Six Lightning Scars
by RisingFromTheRuins
Summary: In which the Wizarding World teeters on the edge of civil war, Harry is not the only one with a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him, Sirius is not in Azkaban, and everything is different only because Voldemort brought Bellatrix with him when he tried to kill Harry at Godric's Hollow. AU of PS, canon divergent. Warnings inside.
1. Godfather

**Notes:** This is an AU that presented itself to me one day and then would not leave me alone. So naturally I began to plot it, and it grew and grew in my head and then spilled over onto the page. This first chapter explains it better than a summary, but next chapter there is another twist which sends the plot in yet another direction (so don't go making assumptions yet!). This story will cover Harry's first year at Hogwarts, though there will be a few chapters at the beginning with necessary pre-Hogwarts stuff. I aim to eventually cover all seven years - which, as you'll be able to tell, will turn out very differently.

If you recognise this story, that is probably because the first chapter was briefly posted here before I decided I needed to revise it a little more. Sorry for any confusion.

**Warnings****: **Violence, borderline dark themes (nothing worse than DH), small amounts of angst and emotional upset. For the series as a whole.. well, I don't know, but I imagine the warnings list will grow for the stories that follow this one.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not J.K Rowling. I am not making any money off this story. This is merely for pleasure (and getting the damn thing down on paper, because it's taken over my brain).

* * *

_Initium._

* * *

**Chapter One: Godfather**

Bellatrix Lestrange was the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eater. Of all his followers, none but her had been told of his greatest secret: his horcruxes. She had made an unbreakable vow never to say anything about them, and to protect them at all costs. Also, only one other Death Eater knew about the prophecy - the spy, Severus Snape - and that was only because he had been the one to overhear it. But the Dark Lord had told her. Because she was his most trusted.

And Bellatrix was the only Death Eater present now. Her lord was about to destroy the boy of the prophecy, having killed the boy's parents less than a minute ago. This boy had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, according to the prophecy. _Power he will never use, _Bellatrix thought, mentally cackling vindictively. He would be too dead to do use any power, let alone vanquish the Dark Lord.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of green light hit the boy's forehead - but he did not crumple, eyes blank and lifeless, as his mother and father had done mere minutes before. The spell rebounded and struck Voldemort in the chest, and her lord let out a scream of agony that chilled Bellatrix's heart. And to her horror, he seemed to be disintegrating before her very eyes - his robes fell in a heap on the floor - the house was blown apart by the explosion of magic - and he was gone, his body had vanished, and his spirit had fled.

He had been defeated.

It was not possible. Her master was undefeatable! But it had happened, and she had been unable to stop it. The boy, Harry Potter, was not even two years old. But somehow, he had defeated the greatest sorcerer ever known. How? How had he done it?

She got to her feet, having been knocked over by the explosion, and dug through the wreckage to the boy's cot. He was quite silent, staring at the pile of robes, the ruins of the house, and his mother's body. He obviously did not understand what had happened, but it had fascinated him nevertheless. Briefly, she considered killing him, but whatever shred of common sense she had reminded her that if he was responsible for the Dark Lord's demise... well, maybe she had better wait on that.

Bellatrix examined the boy, and noticed a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, where the curse had struck. But the killing curse left no marks. Was there something more to this scar?

She picked the boy up, trying not to recoil in revulsion. Bellatrix hated children. But as she did so, she felt the dark mark on her left forearm twinge - albeit almost unnoticeably - but she almost dropped the brat in shock. There _was_ something more to this! The scar was the mark of something else. Some connection to the Dark Lord...

She froze. No - no, he couldn't be - but every instinct was telling her she was right. Harry Potter was a horcrux, a living horcrux. She couldn't kill him now, because he had part of her lord's soul in him, irrevocably bound to his own soul. It could not be transferred to another vessel, by any ritual.

But would the light try to kill him? Some of them, the ones who believed in the 'Greater Good' might. Many, especially overprotective mothers, would be horrified at the thought. She leered at the thought. The light would be split, divided. And since her lord was immortal, when he rose again, they would not be able to fight him as one, and they would be crushed.

Unless the boy was killed before then. And if Albus Dumbledore had a hand in it, he might be. So how could she ensure her wasn't?

She couldn't. There was no one alive who was close to the boy, and who had a lot of influence. But what if she were to transfer the pieces of Voldemort's soul into other children? One child's death was one thing, but six... there would not be many willing to kill six children, even to assure the defeat of the Dark Lord.

It was as though someone had lit a fire in Bellatrix's mind: suddenly she had a purpose again, a way to protect the horcruxes, a way to serve her lord until he rose again. She would transfer them to the souls of children - people were always more protective of children, after all, for some reason - and then she would use the boy's blood in a rebirthing ritual, to resurrect her lord. It was the perfect plan.

Bellatrix allowed herself one tiny smirk. Just one, though. There was a long way to go to put her plan into action.

Suddenly there was a deafening roar and Sirius Black landed his flying motorcycle not twenty feet away. The first thing he saw was James Potter's body and he let out a howl of pain, sliding off his bike and crouching down beside his dead friend. Pathetic, really. She drew her wand out and prepared to apparate away - but before she could, he turned, and noticed four things at once - her, Lily's body, the pile of robes, and the child she was holding.

He started towards her, but she raised her wand to the child's head. "Not another step, dear cousin, unless you want me to kill the last of the Potters." She wouldn't, not now she knew what he was - but Black didn't know that. He stopped immediately, his expression showing nothing but pain.

Well, the man had just lost his best friend and his best friend's wife, and now she was threatening his godson. That was one of the reasons why Bellatrix didn't have friends. The other being that she was not a friendly person.

"Give him to me if you know what's good for you," Black snarled. He spoke with a hard edge in his voice. It was the voice of a man who had lost almost everything in the space of a few seconds.

Bellatrix merely laughed. "Now why would I do that? Give up the brat who caused my master's defeat? I don't think so, _cousin_." She spat the word. He was no cousin of hers, the filthy blood traitor.

Black's eyes widened almost comically and he glanced at the pile of robes and then back at his godson. "He defeated Voldemort?" he said, in a tone of disbelief.

"And he will pay," snarled Bellatrix in reply, pushing the wand further into the boy's temple. Harry whimpered in pain, his green eyes flashing with fear. "I will bring back the Dark Lord, and he will wish he had died tonight after all!"

"Leave him alone!" Black spat angrily, taking a step forward.

"Not another step," said Bellatrix warningly. "I'll do it, you know. I've got nothing to lose."

He stopped, and she managed not to sag with relief. He hadn't called her bluff. But she couldn't keep this up forever... how far away were the anti-apparition wards? They extended in a thirty-metre radius, she knew. Surely she could sprint that far without getting hit by a curse from her cousin's wand?

She glanced over at the spot where they ended and then back at Black, who seemed to be trying to find some way to get the brat away from her without her killing him. She weighed it up in her mind. How fast was she? Could she make it?

Bellatrix decided to risk it, and dashed for the edge of the wards. Black was startled by her abrupt take-off and though his surprise only lasted one or two seconds, it was enough of a head start. Dodging two stunners, she reached the edge of the wards and disapparated, taking the child with her.

"No!" Sirius cried, but it was too late; she had gone. She had taken his godson. Two of his best friends had been killed. So many things had happened so quickly, and he couldn't help it. He broke down, sobbing. James was dead. Lily was dead. And now Harry was gone. The fact that Voldemort had been defeated hardly mattered. He was broken.

Sirius didn't know how long he cried for, but after a few minutes he felt a large hand on his shoulder and turned suddenly to see Hagrid, looking just as upset, standing behind him. Dumbledore must have sent him.

"Are they -" the part-giant whispered hoarsely, not wanting to say the word that made it sound so final._ Dead._

"Lily... and James..." Sirius managed. "Harry's alive... killing curse must have not worked on him or something... he defeated Voldemort. He's gone."

Hagrid had started when Sirius said 'Voldemort'. He said slowly, "You-Know-Who's gone? A little boy defeated 'im?" Hagrid sounded highly sceptical, but he kept glancing around, taking in the destruction of the house and the absence of one Harry Potter.

"Bellatrix said so. She was there," said Sirius, before a fresh wave of grief almost overcame him. "Took Harry with her... I don't know where. I'm going after her. You can take my bike, I won't need it."

Hagrid looked like he was holding back tears himself. Finally he said gruffly, "Thank yeh, Sirius. Yeh go after yer godson. I'd best be telling Professor Dumbledore about this. Gallopin' gargoyles, what a mess..."

Sirius nodded mutely as Hagrid took the bike and flew off. He couldn't look at James' fallen form, nor Lily lying, cold and dead, in the ruins. They would be given a proper funeral. He would make sure of it. But for now, Dumbledore could deal with it. Bellatrix Lestrange - his most insane cousin - had his godson. She had to be dealt with first.

_I'm coming, Harry,_ he vowed. _I'm coming, and I'm never letting you get hurt again._

* * *

It was only a week before the Aurors caught up with him. He hadn't even considered that they might be chasing him, but of course, they all thought he had betrayed the Potters. Maybe he should have told Hagrid that Pettigrew, damn him to the darkest depths of hell, had been the Secret Keeper. But he'd been overcome by grief and guilt, and he was never one to think of the far-reaching consequences anyway.

And he _still _had not found his godson.

It had been a week. An _entire week._ Bellatrix could be doing Merlin knows what to Harry right now, and what was he doing? Sitting in a holding cell, waiting for questioning. Not a trial, since no one had proved he was a Death Eater yet, and they needed a crime to charge him with. Everyone seemed to think he was the spy, however. They just needed to prove it.

The newspapers were full of the story, of course. It was plastered all over the front page and about fifteen pages after that. A one-year-old child had defeated the darkest sorcerer ever known, then been kidnapped. And, of course, now the supposed traitor had been caught.

He couldn't wait to see the expressions on their faces when they found out he was not.

Briefly, Sirius wondered if perhaps grief, desperation, and several sleepless nights had driven him mad. It was possible. But not worth dwelling on right now. The door to his cell was clanking open.

He didn't recognise the Auror and he didn't introduce himself. The Auror dragged in a chair and then stood off to the side, his wand clutched firmly in his hand. "Don't try anything, Black," he warned, and there was a trace of loathing in his voice. Just what he needed - the sort of Auror who took every crime as a personal offence.

Apparently Sirius didn't get a chair, because the next person to come in simply sat down on the only one available. He caught sight of the corridor for a short moment as the door swung open to let said person in, and he spotted a few familiar faces. The Order, a few Aurors, even Minister Bagnold was out there. Her last act as minister, probably. How soon was her term over? It wasn't long, and since the war was over, she'd probably retire as soon as she could convince someone to take her place.

And Remus was there, of course.

The werewolf looked confused. Obviously, he didn't want to believe Sirius was the traitor. He felt a small smile quirk his lips as his interrogator slammed the door shut. Questioner, whatever. As far as he was concerned, they were the same thing.

"Auror Proudfoot, administer the veritaserum."

Proudfoot, was it? Sirius looked at the Auror in question as Proudfoot fished a small vial from his pocket and strode purposefully towards him. Being chained up, there was no way for Sirius to resist even if he had wanted to. But he didn't want to resist. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, because Harry needed him.

He took the few drops of veritaserum without complaint. Surprise flitted briefly across Proudfoot's face before it returned to its schooled mask of neutrality. He obviously hadn't expected Sirius to comply.

"Fire away," said Sirius, looking up at his questioner. It was Barty Crouch Senior. Of course. Who else but the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would question him? Didn't he have better things to do? Apparently not.

Crouch's eyes narrowed, but he began. "What is your name?"

Standard practice. "Sirius Orion Black," he stated.

"Were you a friend of James and Lily Potter?" asked Crouch.

Sirius felt his heart clench in pain. "Yes," he said, much quieter than before. Hearing their names brought on a fresh wave of sorrow.

Crouch didn't appear to care. "Were you their Secret Keeper? Did you betray them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

The crucial questions. He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts, before the veritaserum forced him to answer. "I was their Secret Keeper... originally. I convinced them to switch to Peter, so the Death Eaters would come after me. I did not betray them. That was Peter."

Sirius glanced up, looking to see what effect his words had on the two. Crouch's expression had not changed, but Proudfoot's eyes widened with surprise. He was only a young Auror, after all, not yet so good at hiding his emotions before his expression changed. He'd learn. Probably.

Crouch looked him in the eye and asked the last question. "Are you a Death Eater, or in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Crouch probably already knew the answer. But this was a man who did everything by the book. Sirius hadn't ever gotten on with any of those types of people, except Remus.

"No," Sirius replied, and Crouch nodded, getting up and striding out of the small cell.

"Release him, Auror Proudfoot," he called over his shoulder, as if on an afterthought. The Auror nodded, looking a little bewildered by this turn of events, took out the key, and began to unlock the chains.

Remus was apologising profusely for ever suspecting him before Sirius was even fully unchained. The tiny smile crept onto his face again at the sight of his friend. Really, how could they have ever suspected each other?

"Shut up, Moony," said Sirius, as Remus opened his mouth to make another apology. "You don't have to be sorry for anything." He pulled himself up and walked out of his cell, squinting a little with the brighter light.

"Yes, I do," said Remus stoutly, but Sirius shook his head.

"No, you don't," he said. "None of this is your fault." He turned to face Dumbledore, now Crouch seemed to have finished his explanation of the questioning. "Am I free now? Can I go after my godson?"

"We already have people searching -" began Dumbledore, but Sirius cut him off.

"How many people? Don't you have most people rounding up Death Eaters? How many are actually looking for him?" he demanded. He knew every second he spent arguing was wasting time he could be looking for Harry, but if he convinced Dumbledore to get more people to search for him, maybe they could find him faster.

"Remus was," said Dumbledore quickly. "So am I, and everyone's on the lookout -"

"Remus _was_?" interrupted Sirius, looking over at his friend again.

Remus scowled slightly, but grief was marring the expression. "Ran into Dolohov. Not sure who came away worst off. He managed to get a cutting curse in, and it hit my leg." He did look very pale, Sirius noticed, and his fists were clenched, maybe against the pain.

"You should be resting," Sirius said, concern rising up in him.

The werewolf shook his head. "I can't. Harry's out there. Peter's out there. The rest of the Death Eaters are too. I have to do something, Padfoot, even if I can't go out hunting for them."

"Remus, listen to Sirius," said Dumbledore calmly. "Your leg will only heal if you rest it."

"Don't worry," said Sirius softly. "I'll track down the bad guys."

His friend hesitated once more, but then nodded. "Alright," he said quietly. "And when you find the she-devil that took Harry, give her a -"

"Don't worry," he cut in. "I will."

As he was leaving, Auror Proudfoot called out to him. "Wait."

He turned, and the Auror handed him back his wand. He felt his face flush. How could he have almost walked out of the ministry without it?

Proudfoot gave him a searching look before saying, "If you want to know... a lone Death Eater was sighted just hours ago. No one knows if it was her, but -"

"Tell me where," Sirius snapped. Proudfoot nodded, and did so.

_Coming, Harry, _he thought. _Still coming._

* * *

_There._

She was staying there, in that tiny shack. Sirius could see her wild, dark hair through the grimy window. Finally - _finally_ - after over two months of searching, he had found her. The question was whether Harry was all right. Bellatrix was mad - what did she know about keeping a child healthy?

He raised his wand and blasted open the door. The anti-apparition wards were already down. She would not escape this time. This time, he had her cornered. His wand was already raised, even as she turned sharply at the crash and raised her own.

And there they stood, holding each other at wandpoint, two different types of madness in their eyes. Sirius' gaze flicked briefly over to the small boy in the corner of the shack. Harry's usually bright eyes were dull, and he looked pale. He was also too skinny for a toddler, but other than that, he appeared to be fine.

"I knew you would come," Bellatrix whispered, her breath coming faster. "I knew you'd come for your precious godson. I knew it."

Two months on the run hadn't been kind to her. Her usually wild hair was even more ragged, and she was grimy, as though she hadn't bathed in a long time. She seemed skinnier than before. The insane smirk that only seemed to come out when she was cornered was in place, though.

"If you knew," Sirius said, striving for calm - he didn't want Harry to be afraid of him - "why are you still here?"

She let out a loud cackle of laughter, as though she found his question amusing. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw the small boy tense at the sound, eyes flashing with fear, and his grip tightened on his wand, his free hand curling into a fist. If she had so much as raised her wand on his godson, he would make her pay.

"I knew you were _coming_," she said, between breaths, "but not _when,_ dearest cousin. You're too late, though. Much too late. I've done it."

She sounded completely mad. She was insane before, but the defeat of her master and two months with no one but a toddler to talk to probably hadn't helped. "What are you talking about?" he snapped out.

Her smirk grew wider, and it was all Sirius could do not to throw his wand away and punch her on the face, just to get rid of it. "There's six of them now, yes, six! Six of them with a lighting scar! That brat -" she gestured to Harry with her free hand "- was already one of them, so I transferred the others. Now they're safe! You could never kill a child, could you? A baby, a toddler, what does it matter? You wouldn't kill one, even if it was a horcrux, would you?"

It sounded as though she was trying to taunt him, but it would have been far more effective if he knew what a horcrux was. Sirius was sure he'd heard the word before - it was probably dark magic - but he didn't know _what._ It was frustrating.

"Stop talking in riddles," he snarled, raising his wand a little higher. "Tell me what you mean."

"Where are your manners, dear cousin? Surely Walburga taught you better," Bellatrix goaded. "And these are not riddles. They are truth. I did it, and there's nothing you can do now! They're intertwined, and you have to kill them to get rid of it!" She was cackling with glee again, and the manic glint in her eyes was brighter than it was before. Bellatrix had definitely lost whatever had remained of her sanity. Maybe seeing her master's death had helped unhinge her.

"You are making no sense, and you'd better _start_ making some, or I'll -"

"Now, now," chided Bellatrix. "No threats from you, dear cousin. You need to be able to back them up."

"A team of Aurors is on the way," said Sirius. "You'll go to Azkaban."

Bellatrix let out her loudest laugh yet. "Throw me in there, I will wait! I was faithful! I searched for him! And he will rise again, and I will be rewarded for my loyalty!"

_She really is insane_, thought Sirius drily. She sounded almost fanatical. "You're trapped. You've lost," he told her.

"Have I?" she murmured, so low he could barely hear it. "I did not find my lord. That is true. I could not use the brat's blood, could not revive him..." And then the gleam of madness was back, and her voice rose, became more audible. "But I did it, didn't I? I transferred the horcruxes. There's six of them now, and no one will kill them, no one!"

"Stupefy!" Sirius shouted, sick of her rambling, and sick of waiting. She wasn't expecting it, too caught up in her insanity, and she didn't quite get her shield up in time. The stunner stuck her in the chest and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

He heard footsteps and turned to see the Aurors had arrived at last, wands raised and robes swishing about their heels. "Dear Merlin," one of them whispered, his eyes flicking from Harry to Sirius to Bellatrix, and back again. "The newspapers were right."

"Make sure she's bound," instructed another. Her voice was more commanding, and the others obeyed without question. "Bring me her wand."

Sirius left the Aurors to it, stepping closer to the dark-haired boy who was still hunched up in the corner, knees drawn tight to his chest. "Harry, are you alright?" he whispered quietly. He wasn't sure Harry fully understood, but the small boy nodded quickly, seeming to shrink further into the corner.

Sirius slowly reached out to him and drew him into a hug. Harry stiffened at first, then relaxed into his godfather's chest, and started to cry. Sirius rubbed circles on the small boy's back, whispering soothingly to him. "It's all right, Harry. You're safe now. Padfoot's got you."

"Pa'foot?" the boy whispered, snuggling closer to him.

"Yes, Harry," he replied.

"Safe?" Harry asked quietly. His voice was urgent and slightly fearful, and Sirius has to resist the urge to go over and stomp on Bellatrix's face, _hard_. He took a deep breath and calmed down. Harry needed him, now more than ever.

Sirius nodded to answer Harry's question, then realised Harry couldn't see it. "Yes, Harry. And I'm going to make sure no one ever hurts you again."

The tiniest smile crept onto Harry's face. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.

Harry was safe. Sirius had his godson back.


	2. The Great Schism

Thank you to everyone who followed, reviewed, or favourited! (Especial AlwaysSlytherin, who did all three!)

This chapter is the one that really sets the plot in motion. There is a reaction section in this chapter, and a few characters in it are implied in canon (Ernie Macmillan obviously had a father, for instance) but not given first names. If you're averse to that, don't worry, it's likely they'll never turn up again. I wanted to show a wide range of reactions.

Some of the families of the other five will be mentioned here; some won't. I'm keeping the identities of the others under wraps until the plot tells me to reveal them. So, not telling yet. Hehee. Being the author is fun.

Hopefully, I'll be able to keep to a one update a day schedule, though it might slip back into every two or three days. We'll see. And I've rambled long enough.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Great Schism**

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was a busy place. Healers bustled here and there, checking on the patients and murmuring quickly to each other, sometimes shaking their heads in distress or casting sorrowful looks at the people lying on the beds. Other wizards and witches stood beside family members, telling them to get well soon and offering reassurances, or they hurried about and questioned the healers about treatments and when their family could take the patient home.

Sirius had put Harry in to be checked over, because he wanted to be sure that he was perfectly okay. There was no knowing what could have happened to him with two months in Bellatrix's clutches. He hadn't even had time to tell Remus that he'd rescued Harry yet, though he planned to do so as soon as he was certain Harry was fine. The Aurors had taken Bellatrix to the ministry for a trial, but they were certain she'd be sent to Azkaban. He sincerely hoped so.

Harry was currently inside one of the very young children's wards, being checked over. The ward was small and cramped, so the Healers had asked Sirius to wait outside. It was nerve-wracking, sitting on one of the flimsy chairs in the corridor and waiting to hear about his godson's condition.

Would he be all right? He'd _seemed _fine, but Sirius knew there were spells that did only internal damage, and there were spells with less apparent effects as well. He had no doubt Bellatrix knew them. He wasn't sure if she would stoop so low as to cast them on a toddler, though.

But this was Bellatrix. She was insane - who knew what she was capable of? He hadn't seen her for years before this, except on the other side of a battle.

"Sirius."

Sirius turned to see Albus Dumbledore striding down the corridor towards him, a small smile on his face and long cloak flowing out behind him. Briefly, Sirius wondered how Dumbledore had known he was here - but, of course, Dumbledore was on the Wizengamot. He would have heard that Bellatrix would be standing trial, and assumed Sirius would bring Harry here.

For some reason, Sirius felt faintly annoyed that he was so predictable. Maybe stress was getting to him.

"I take it, then, that you finally caught up with Bellatrix Lestrange?" asked Albus, seating himself in a chair next to him and twirling his thumbs.

Sirius nodded. "She was in some old shack near a muggle village. Little Hangleton on something."

Albus nodded, but his face had turned a shade graver, as though he recognised the name. "Little Hangleton," he repeated softly, almost to himself.

"Do you know the town?" asked Sirius curiously.

"I have been there only once," said Albus. "Sirius - did Bellatrix tell you anything about what she has been doing for the past few months?"

"Yes," said Sirius, recalling the strange conversation. He frowned. "She said something about there being 'six of them now with lightning scars', and transferring horcruxes to children. She said we'd never kill a child, so that meant they were safe, and that Harry already was one..." He trailed off, and looked at Dumbledore. "What does she mean?"

He didn't like the look on Dumbledore's face. It was worn, haggard, and despairing. The twinkle in his eyes had left, and there was sorrow in its place. Sirius recognised the look - it was the one Albus wore when he was about to make a hard decision, one that involved some sort of sacrifice for the greater good. "Sirius... this may be hard for you to hear. Do you know what a horcrux is?"

"No," he said, feeling apprehensive. "What?"

"Very dark magic," Dumbledore said simply. "A piece of soul, split off from the rest, and encased in an object. It makes the wizard or witch immortal, on a basic level. Unless it is destroyed, they cannot die."

"Voldemort has one?" asked Sirius, fearing the answer.

"Not one, Sirius," said Dumbledore. "Six. It has never been done before - splitting your soul even once makes it very volatile. From what you've told me, I believe that Harry might have become one accidentally, when he reflected the killing curse."

Sirius felt the blood leave his face. His jaw hung open. No... no! Harry couldn't be a horcrux, he couldn't have a piece of Voldemort's soul inside him! It was as though he'd forgotten how to breathe, and he couldn't do anything but sit and try to process what Dumbledore had just said. "No..." he managed to choke out.

Dumbledore looked mournful. "I'm sorry, Sirius," he said. "I know it's hard to hear... but Harry won't be the only one. I think what Bellatrix has been doing is transferring the pieces of Voldemort's soul from their containers to five other children."

"But then - but then, we could transfer the horcruxes back into the containers, couldn't we? " asked Sirius pleadingly, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"The pieces of Voldemort's soul are now intertwined with the children's own souls, Sirius," he said tiredly. "You can't destroy one with destroying the other, too. And I'm afraid that's what we have to do."

Sirius froze. Finally he said, low and dangerous, "_What_?" He couldn't believe it. It didn't make any sense.

Albus looked sorrowful, but there was a hard, determined edge in his eyes. "They're keeping Voldemort alive, Sirius. Harry may have already fulfilled the prophecy by defeating Voldemort, but he will almost certainly find a way to rise again. The only way we can prevent it is by destroying his horcruxes." He looked up at Sirius. "Bellatrix has done a monstrous thing. But Sirius, you must understand. I'm sorry, but there's nothing to be done."

"You're saying Harry has to die," stated Sirius, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Albus nodded, and Sirius stood up so suddenly he slammed the chair against the wall. "No!" he growled. "I've spent two months searching for him, Albus! I just got him back, and now you want to kill him?"

"I do not want to, Sirius, but it is necessary. For the good of everyone," said Albus carefully, looking slightly worried. "You must understand. If we do not, Voldemort could rise again. Think of how many lives would be lost if that happened."

Sirius almost wanted to hit him. He didn't care if Dumbledore _was_ over a hundred years old. No one - _no one_ - was going to hurt Harry. He had promised his godson that. Hearing Dumbledore calmly talking about having to kill him did more than rub him the wrong way. Anger boiled up inside him. "Damn you, Albus," he whispered menacingly. "I will _not_ let you do this."

He threw open the door to the ward and strode over to where Harry lay, even as Dumbledore was rising from his seat. "Sir," said one of the Healers, "Sir, he seems fine, but he needs more to eat, and there might be a curse scar on his forehead -"

"I'm taking him," he growled, and, not waiting for an answer, scooped Harry into his arms, blankets and all. "Can I apparate out of here?"

"There's an anti-apparition ward over most of this place but there is an apparition point in that corner - where are you going?" asked the Healer, as Sirius hurried over to the indicated corner. "You haven't checked him out of the hospital yet!"

"Mind doing that for me? I'm taking him somewhere I can keep him safe," he said fiercely, as Dumbledore swiftly entered the ward.

"Sirius, stop!" Albus shouted, but Sirius apparated away, Harry in his arms and a snarl of rage on his face.

A red beetle with odd markings flitted into the ward and was promptly shooed out the window by a Healer. Unknown to all, it had heard the two wizards conversing.

* * *

The next morning's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ was rather a shock for most who read it.

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED COULD RISE AGAIN!**

_**Article by Rita Skeeter**_

_**Friday 18 December, 1981**_

**Last night it was discovered that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has left a terrifying legacy amongst us. He has created five 'horcruxes', which have been transferred to the souls of five children (in addition, Harry Potter, the renowned Boy-Who-Lived, is also a horcrux). The identities of these children are unknown as of yet.**

**Horcruxes are a branch of dark magic. Making one involves splitting your soul in order to become immortal. Unless the piece of soul is destroyed, the maker cannot die. And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has created five of these horcruxes, which were placed in various containers.**

**However, Bellatrix Lestrange, who is often thought of as the right hand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has transferred these horcruxes to the souls of five children. They (along with Harry Potter, who was accidentally made horcrux on October 31 when he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) must be killed in order for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to be destroyed for good.**

**It appears that the Wizarding World's hopes that he had been permanently defeated are in vain. Now we are faced with a horrifying prospect - do we murder six children to end this, or leave them to live and risk He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return?**

**It is a moral dilemma like no other. Are we more committed to destroying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or keeping our principles? Is it right to kill six children, in order to save all the lives that would be lost in another war? These are the questions we will have to ask ourselves.**

**Sides are already being taken. Albus Dumbledore, a well known figure to all of us, has decided that we have to destroy theses horcruxes. Sirius Black, godfather to Harry Potter, has obviously taken the other side. Sirius Black rescued young Mr Potter from Bellatrix Lestrange yesterday and then subsequently from Albus Dumbledore. The pair are now assumed to be on the run.**

**The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has so far been unavailable for comment, and whether his aware of the situation yet is unknown. Certainly, the Ministry of Magic can be expected to officially state their position on this controversial issue at anytime. This reporter will continue to keep the wizarding population updated about this.**

**It seems we are all now faced with an enormous decision. We must choose whose side we are on. Good luck to you all, and may your choice be the right one.**

* * *

"Do you want the paper, Dad?" asked Bill Weasley, as his father settled himself at the table. "I haven't looked at it yet, but you have to go to work."

"Thank you, Bill," said Arthur, looking fondly at his eldest son. He took the newspaper as Percy passed it to him and scanned it briefly, raising a spoon of cereal to his mouth.

He started to read, and suddenly spat his cereal out.

"What's wrong, Dad?" asked Percy, from where he was sitting.

Arthur did not answer. "Molly!" he shouted. "MOLLY!"

* * *

"Thank you," said Remus to the post owl, placing five knuts in its coin purse. He untied the paper and smoothed it out on the table, then went to make some breakfast.

He read the paper, and suddenly did not feel like eating. He felt more like passing out.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy pursed her lips and frowned as she read the morning's paper in the drawing room. She glanced at her son, sitting properly on his own chair and waiting for her to finish, and then back at the paper.

_My sister is a fool_, she thought grimly, laying the _Daily Prophet_ down on the coffee table.

* * *

Alastor Moody growled and took a swig of drink from his hipflask, scowling at the newspaper on his table. This was unexpected. And a problem. _That Skeeter woman_, he thought darkly, _always messing things up._ She had made it sound as though they all had to take sides immediately - without explaining very much about these 'sides'.

And knowing the wizarding population, they would all immediately declare support for one side of the other without giving much thought to it. They'd call it 'following their heart' or 'doing what they think is right'. That was just a cover-up for not thinking.

_Constant vigilance_, he thought, and took another swig from his hipflask.

* * *

Eight-year-old Nymphadora Tonks ran into her parents' bedroom, waving the paper above her head. "Mum! Dad! Have you seen it yet?"

"Of course not, Nymphadora," said Andromeda, and her daughter scowled at the name. "What is so urgent you have to barge in here at seven o'clock in the morning?"

"This!" she declared, shoving the paper in front of her mother.

Ted Tonks read it over Andromeda's shoulder. "Dear Merlin," he breathed softly.

_Dear Merlin is right_, thought Andromeda, rereading the article. "Well," she said, attempting to keep her voice light. "This is a surprise."

* * *

Newly-elected Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge only just managed to refrain from spilling tea down his robes. He groaned softly, putting his head in his hands. Why now? He thought that, with the war over, the biggest problem he would have to deal with would be picking up the pieces.

Well. That happy illusion was shattered.

Now, of course, he had to make a decision on the ministry's stance. He couldn't not, with the way Skeeter had phrased it. _Wonderful,_ he thought sarcastically, and banged his forehead on the desk. _Just like her, to stir up trouble and yet sound so _reasonable_ while doing it._

* * *

Albus Dumbledore froze when he caught sight of the headline, and suddenly, he felt much older. He'd spent the night figuring out what to do about Harry and Sirius, and he did not need another complication. _Especially one as devastating as this,_ he thought. This would split the Wizarding World down the middle. Sides _would_ be taken.

They were playing into the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. They'd thought capturing her would mark the end of that threat, but it seemed they'd been wrong.

As he was Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light - though for how much longer, he didn't know - he could not permit himself to do something so crude as to _growl_ in frustration. Had he been anyone else, he knew he would have.

* * *

Lorelei Zabini did not read the paper. She was having a moment of intimacy with her latest husband, who happened to be richer than the last to put together. He would probably die mysteriously like the other six. Only this one had a son already - Blaise. Still, she could put up with him. Perhaps even grow to love him. He was a pureblood, so that helped.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge giggled girlishly, and sipped her tea with a small smile. Six less children in the world would be simply wonderful.

* * *

Xenophilius Lovegood hummed, folded up the paper, and set about finishing an article on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. His wife would probably read the paper later.

* * *

Lisa and Martin Chang read the paper, and cried. This wouldn't be an easy decision for anyone.

* * *

Rufus Scrimgeour frowned, filed away the information in his mind, and continued reading Auror reports.

* * *

Amos Diggory let his wife know his opinion on the matter. She disagreed. The argument was only stopped by four-year-old Cedric complaining that his toast was burnt.

* * *

Amelia Bones felt tears gather in her eyes as she read. How could people think about killing children?

* * *

Ludo Bagman felt his boyish grin falter and he ran his fingers through his hair. This was a mess.

* * *

Michael Abbott felt his face drain of blood, and he threw the paper into the fireplace. This was obscene, making people choose something like this.

* * *

Bartemius Crouch Senior paused for a moment, then turned the page and read the next article.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart scowled. He was, once again, not even _mentioned_ on the front page. How infuriating.

* * *

Severus Snape buried his face in his hands. _Potter's child_, he told himself firmly. _Not Lily's. Potter's. You know the Dark Lord has to be defeated._

* * *

Aberforth Dumbledore stormed out of his bar and up to Hogwarts. He was going to have a very firm word with his brother.

* * *

Elphias Doge was shocked. _But Albus knows best, _he thought. _This must be the only way._

* * *

Paula Edgecombe's frown deepened as she read the paper. She glanced at her daughter, Marietta, then at her husband, and then back at the paper. She knew where her loyalty lay.

* * *

Gordon Macmillan conceded that this was very sad, of course, but the war was apparently not over. Sacrifices had to be made.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had to restrain the urge to go and slap Albus in the face. How could he even think about murdering six children?

* * *

Around the country, people dropped their cups, spat out their breakfasts, and shouted for their families. They talked, some cried. Many chose. Some didn't.

* * *

The Order of the Phoenix was split down the middle. Some violently opposed Albus. Others were firmly on his side, agreeing completely with his reasoning. Some just sat, letting the arguments unfold around them, and tried to decide for themselves.

In the end, nearly half of the Order defected.

* * *

The Death Eaters, now knowing their master was not defeated, tried to set up again. But with the Dark Lord no longer present, there was no unity. They battled for control, but no one was willing to take orders.

They knew they could bring back the Dark Lord. But not together. So they went their separate ways, all with the same purpose in mind. _Find him, help him to rise again. First._

Nott, Travers, and Yaxley tried to attack the Flamels and get Nicholas to tell them how to make a Philosophers Stone, but they failed. The Flamels went into hiding. Others tried to make their own stone, or steal it from vault 713. None succeeded.

Some tried to find other means of reviving the Dark Lord. Of course, it was all useless if they didn't know where he _was_.

* * *

A few days later, the ministry issued an official edict. Anyone found with a lightning scar was to be handed over to the ministry. Anyone sheltering such a person would be considered a criminal. Wanted posters for Sirius Black and Harry Potter appeared, though there was no need for them. Everyone knew what they looked like. Rita Skeeter had been efficient.

No one came forward.

The Unspeakables were fascinated, and decided that if they found such a child, they would study the child first. A living horcrux? This was an opportunity they likely would never have again. In fact, many wondered why they hadn't studied soul magic sooner.

* * *

Sirius read the edict and clenched his fists. Well, now they were in hiding officially. They couldn't go to any members of the Order of the Phoenix – Albus Dumbledore was probably watching anyone who might help him, especially Remus.

Harry would have to grow up on the run. But Sirius was determined to give him a childhood. While Harry would have to learn and do things no other child would, he would still have fun, and play games, and behave like a child should. Sirius was determined about that.

Part of that, of course, would mean Harry would have to go to Hogwarts. Obviously, he would have to be under a false identity – he couldn't have the name 'Harry Potter' on the Sorting list.

He could change Harry's looks for it later. His name, however, had to be changed as soon as possible. If a new name mysteriously appeared close to the date, Albus would realise something was up. So Sirius needed to change the student list.

That meant sneaking into Hogwarts. Something that was probably impossible for any normal person. But Sirius was a Marauder.

"_Quiesco_," he murmured, sending Harry to sleep. That would give him some time. He cast a warming charm, and every protection charm he could think of. He disillusioned the young toddler, and the blankets he had taken from the hospital, and gently laid him down. Harry would sleep until he returned.

He cast the muggle-repelling charm, and another spell to let him know if anything happened to Harry, before finally deciding he had done all he could. Still, he was uneasy about leaving Harry in an abandoned warehouse, even if it was only for a night.

_You're securing his safety in the future,_ he reminded himself, and then apparated to Hogsmeade.

Christmas had come and gone; it was early January now, but still the snow lay piled up in the streets of the wizarding town. Sirius smiled slightly and transformed into a dog, passing the familiar shops and house. The Three Broomsticks... Dervish and Bangs... the post office...

It was very quiet, for seven in the morning. He supposed everyone was still inside, discussing Rita Skeeter's article in the newspaper. What he wanted to know was how she had heard about the six children being horcruxes. As far as he knew, he and Albus were the only ones in that corridor.

What if Albus had told her?

He tried to dismiss the thought, but failed. Rita Skeeter had found out through 'anonymous sources', and he had not told her, or even breathed a word of the matter to anyone. And this was the perfect way to make sure he and Harry were isolated – by making them fugitives. Granted, that was the ministry's fault. But the ministry was even more predictable than Sirius was.

He growled softly. If Dumbledore had told Skeeter, he had a lot to answer for. It was bad enough when it was just him trying to kill Harry. Now he had half the wizard world on their tails. Devoid of speech in his dog form, Sirius cursed Albus inside his mind. It was not nearly as satisfying.

He arrived at the Shrieking Shack and paused, feeling emotions well up inside him. So many memories were associated with this place. He had never had the time to fully get over James' death, or Peter's betrayal. He had been to intent on rescuing Harry.

But now... now memories were washing over him and he had to fight not to relive every one of them. The first time they had to watch Remus transform. Sneaking out of the shack and exploring the grounds. The time James had nearly crushed Peter underhoof.

_Wish he had,_ thought Sirius bitterly, but he pushed the memories aside. He had to focus on getting into the castle.

If approaching the shack was hard, walking through it was worse. He often had to fight to place one paw in front of the other, to keep going, when memory and loss threatened to drown him. _Not now. I cannot break down now. I have to get this done quickly and go back for Harry._ Sirius clung resolutely to that thought as he approached the tunnel and padded along it. _For Harry. For Harry. Do not let memory drown you._

Finally, he reached the end. He slipped out and deftly pushed the knot on the tree before the Whomping Willow could slam into him, and made his way up the grounds to the castle. The Hogwarts student list would be in either Dumbledore's or McGonagall's office, probably the former.

Hogwarts was unnaturally quiet as he padded through the corridors. For a moment, he wondered why, but then realised it was the Christmas holidays. There would be only a small amount of students and professors at the school. Finally, some good luck.

After everything that had happened, Harry needed some good luck.

Sirius managed to make his way through the castle without getting spotted. Of course, the portraits noticed, but they'd probably seen stranger things than a great black dog wandering through the halls. There _was _a close call with one of the ghosts, but he managed to duck into the shadows before he was seen.

At Dumbledore's office, he paused, checking the hallways to see if anyone was coming, before changing back into human form.

"Er - pepper imp?"

The gargoyle didn't move.

"Fizzing whizzbee?" he tried. "Sugar quill? Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans? Liquorice wand? Chocolate frog?"

The gargoyle sprang aside with the last one, and Sirius hurried up the steps and into Dumbledore's office.

"_Accio student list_," he said clearly, and they came zooming into his hands. As he set about changing them, he allowed himself a little grin. It had worked. He had done it. Harry could come to Hogwarts.

He transformed into a dog and left the office. As he made his way through the corridors, some student saying for Christmas break caught sight of him, shrieked out something about the Grim, and fainted dead away.

All in all, it was a very successful day. The first one he'd had in a while.


	3. Other Friends Have Flown Before

This is about two and half years after the last chapter, and the second to last of the Pre-Hogwarts chapters. By chapter five, Harry will be going to Diagon Alley (Hooray!).

Some parts of Remus' conversation may not make much sense, but don't worry, it'll come clear eventually.

The title for this chapter is a quote from Edgar Allan Poe's poem 'The Raven'.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Other Friends Have Flown Before**

Two and a half years - or thereabouts - after what was being called 'The Great Schism', Remus John Lupin apparated to a house outside Ottery St Catchpole and knocked sharply on the door.

Those two and a half years had not been kind to him. All his friends had left him - James and Lily were dead, Peter a traitor, and Sirius and Harry were in hiding - and the thing that was getting to him most was the loneliness. There was always someone to talk to, but what he wanted was companionship. The sort of companionship you only get after years of knowing each other and being friends. He wished Sirius would contact him, but at the same time, he didn't. He wouldn't put it past Albus to have someone watching him.

Molly Weasley opened the door and her tired expression turned into a smile when she saw him. "Remus! Come in, come in, we've got some tea left, I think - you'll stay for a cup, won't you?"

He nodded politely, stepping through the doorway and following Molly through to the sitting room. Remus settled down on an old armchair that was covered in a knitted blanket. "Yes, Molly, but I can't stay long, I'm afraid." He accepted the cup of tea she pressed into his hands and gave a small smile when the twins tore through the room, chased by Ron, who was shouting, "I'll get you! I'll get you!"

"Oh, dear," sighed Molly, her tired expression returning. "I'd better get that. I do wish Arthur was home more often, sometimes, but they work him to the bone, I swear. Ron! Fred! George! Stop that!" she called getting up and addressing her shout to the three boys who had just run up the stairs.

"Yes, Mum!" called Fred. "Hear that, Ron? Knock it off!"

"Give me back my chocolate frog card!"

"Fred! George! Give it back!" instructed Molly. Fred and George grumbled a bit, but presumably handed it over, because Molly came back and sat down opposite him again.

"Sorry about that, Remus. Those twins..." She shook her head in exasperation. "Well, one of these days they'll mature. I hope."

"Just give them time, Molly. Boys will be boys. Let them enjoy being children while they can," Remus said, sipping his tea. It was just what he needed - sweet, sharp, and warm. It was comforting.

Molly nodded. "I don't want them to grow up too fast, but one of these days, I know they'll have to. But anyway," she said, fixing her eyes on Remus, "what brings you out here, Remus? As lovely as it is to see you, you've never been one for social calls."

Remus chuckled softly. She really did know him too well. "Well, you're right," he said. "I have come here for a reason. Aberforth sent me to ask if Arthur's had any luck with his... task, yet. Xenophilius would have come, but he took Elspeth and his daughter Luna on some trip searching for Bibbering Humdingers, I believe."

Molly sighed. "_Bibbering Humdingers. _Xenophilius and his crazy ideas. I don't know how Elspeth puts up with it. Well, I'm glad you came, then, but Arthur hasn't told me all the details yet. If you want to wait until he comes home, he'll be here in about an hour."

"That'd be fine," said Remus. For some reason, the idea of staying longer appealed to him. He never would have, though, without a reason other than his own contentment. "But from what he has gotten round to telling you, what do you know about it?"

"He's got Ted and Andromeda Tonks convinced," said Molly, thinking. "That much I know. He said he'd tried to talk to Reginald Cattermole as well, but I don't know how that's going." She poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip. "I heard Sturgis Podmore's been making trouble as well?"

The werewolf sighed unhappily. "Yes, he has. I think Albus put him up to it. He's been stirring up trouble for anyone who left the Order of the Phoenix at the ministry." He chuckled softly. "Apparently he tried to get Amelia Bones demoted."

"From your expression, I'd imagine that didn't turn out well for him," said Molly. There was a loud bang from upstairs, making Remus jump, but Molly waved her hand dismissively as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence. "Don't worry. It's just the twins - experimenting again, I'd imagine. They'll be fine."

"Er - how old are they?" asked Remus, glancing apprehensively at the stairway, not sure if they should be trusted with explosives.

"They turned six in April," said Molly. "But they've been obsessed with loud explosions ever since Bill first lost control of a firework."

Remus nodded awkwardly. "Oh. Well, anyway, Amelia was too popular for Sturgis; almost the entire ministry was against him. He won't be trying that again in a hurry."

"Glad to hear it," said Molly, refilling his mug with tea. "Honestly, though... Sturgis always seemed so nice. I wonder why he took Albus' side, anyway. Surely he realises how wrong what they're trying to do is?"

"Doesn't look like it," sighed Remus, "or he knows, and just doesn't care." He glanced at his cup, which Molly had just refilled. Not wanting to be rude, he decided he could manage drinking another cupful. It _was_ good tea.

"Mum!" Another red-haired boy appeared at the door with a disgruntled expression, this one maybe eleven or twelve years old. No, he had to be eleven; if he were twelve, he'd be at Hogwarts. It was June, after all. "Mum, Fred and George exploded my bed!"

"Oh, dear," said Molly, frowning. "Excuse me a moment, Remus. Charlie, stay here." She got up and headed upstairs, leaving Charlie and Remus in the sitting room. Charlie settled himself on a chair and cocked his ear to the ceiling, as if waiting for something.

He didn't have long to wait.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!" Molly shouted. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT KEEPING YOUR EXPERIMENTS _INSIDE_ YOUR BEDROOM?"

There was a pause in the shouting; Remus assumed Fred and George were answering their mother. Charlie had a little smirk on his face that seemed to come from getting his brothers in trouble. _Well, if they did blow up his bed, I suppose I can't blame him,_ thought Remus.

"YOU CALL THIS A PRANK? EXPLODING YOUR BROTHER'S BED! WHERE IS HE GOING TO SLEEP TONIGHT, ANSWER ME THAT!"

Molly could really shout. Remus strained his ears and managed to hear one of the twins responding. "You can fix it with a _reparo_." The werewolf winced slightly, knowing Mrs Weasley would not be pleased, even though the twin's statement was correct.

"THAT, GEORGE WEASLEY, IS BESIDE THE POINT!"

"He's not George, I am!" Remus heard the other twin say indignantly. Another bad move - the pranksters-in-the-making still had a lot to learn, though he didn't doubt they'd be masters of the art by the time they reached Hogwarts. He pitied the teachers, but at the same time, felt a wave of nostalgia.

Molly ignored the twin (who was presumably George). "ENOUGH! YOU TWO ARE BANNED FROM YOUR EXPERIMENTS FOR A WEEK, DO YOU HEAR?"

"Hard not to," Charlie murmured, still smiling. The twins made exclamations of distress, and Molly came in through the door a minute later.

"Dreadfully sorry about that," said Molly. "But they went a step too far this time. They crossed the line. Anyway, would you like some more tea, Remus? Run along, Charlie," she added to the eleven-year-old, who was still in the sitting room. "Your bed's been fixed."

"Thanks!" said Charlie, bounding up and racing upstairs again.

Remus shook his head. "No, thank you, Molly," he said. He'd had quite enough tea, and had no desire for a third cupful. "I'm not feeling very thirsty, anymore."

"All right," said Molly. "Now - oh, hello, Percy. What is it?"

The third Weasley child had come into the room, carrying a cage with a rat in it. He, unlike the other four boys Remus had seen today, was wearing glasses, and had a serious expression on. "It's Scabbers, Mum," he said. "All the noise is agitating him. Do you know if we have anything to help him? Like cotton, maybe, for his ears?"

Remus glanced over just as Percy pulled the rat out of the cage. It struggled briefly, eyes casting around the room for some escape. And then their gazes met.

And suddenly, Remus recognised Peter, in his animagus form.

White hot rage surged through him and it was all he could do not to leap up and snap the rat's neck. He didn't force his anger down, though, and left it to bubble inside him, hardly caring that his inner wolf was howling and cheering him on. "Percy," he said, his voice trembling slightly with fury, "would you mind holding that rat very tightly for just a moment?"

Percy frowned, confused. "What?" he asked.

But Remus had had enough of waiting. He yanked out his wand and pointed it straight at Scabbers/Peter, ignoring Molly's startled shriek and the sudden expression of terror from Percy. "_Homo revertetur_!" he shouted, sending a jet of light towards the furiously struggling rat.

It only took a few seconds. The head was growing, becoming rounder and larger, the arms and legs were lengthening and returning to human shape. The entire body of the rat was growing - Percy gave a howl of shock and dropped it - and then, quite suddenly, a man was there, one Remus knew and hated more than almost anyone else.

"Pettigrew," he spat. "This is unexpected." He kept his wand directly level with Wormtail's heart.

Molly grabbed Percy and pulled him away, placing him behind her. She turned to face Pettigrew, her face pale but set determinedly, and her wand out. "Get upstairs, now! Don't let the others come down, and make sure Ginny's safe!" she whispered to Percy, who nodded quickly and raced away, sparing Pettigrew one terrified glance. It wasn't everyday your pet turns out to actually be a Death Eater in disguise.

Pettigrew glanced around wildly and saw Remus' furious expression, and seemed to notice the two wands pointing at him. He gave a squeak of terror and sprinted out of the house as fast as his short legs could carry him, startling Remus for only a moment - but a moment was long enough for his stunning spell to miss. With a roar of rage, Remus ran after him. The spell was still in effect, and Wormtail could not transform. Remus chased him out onto the hillside, firing stunning spells and body binds, determined to catch Pettigrew so he could pay for his crimes. Adrenaline was racing through him, and while he was by no means an excellent runner, he was certainly better than Wormtail, and he was gaining.

Wormtail noticed this, and gave another panicked squeak. Remus' spells, not particularly accurate because he was running, were getting closer as the gap closed to less than fifty feet. The rat animagus seemed to be trying to go through his pockets as he ran, and Remus sprinted harder, certain he did not want Peter to pull out whatever was in there.

But, with just twenty-five feet left between them, Wormtail managed to pull out his wand. He stopped, turned, and gave Remus a half terrified, half-smug look, and apparated away.

And Remus let out a howl of fury and frustration, skidding to a halt and collapsing to his knees. It was too late. Pettigrew had managed to get away again.

* * *

He had gotten away. _He had gotten away._ And from Remus Lupin, no less, who had more reason than most to despise him. Of course, it would have been better if his cover hadn't been blown in the first place, but, overall, Peter was quite proud of himself.

Of course, now that he was out of danger, he needed to figure out what he was going to do. He could hide as a rat again - but somehow, that idea was not particularly appealing. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be human, and he felt clumsy and awkward. After walking on all fours for a year (or rather, standing, since that idiot boy never seemed to let him out of the cage) he was finding adjusting back to two legs difficult, and all his limbs felt too long. Peter did not want to have to do that again. It had worked, but now, he needed a new plan.

Obviously, he needed someone to protect him. He shuddered at the idea of Remus or Sirius would do if they caught him, and the idea of Azkaban terrified him even more. He'd never seen the place, but Sirius and James had scared him stiff with tales about it. Peter knew many of them had been fabricated, because surely, no one would really go so mad as to eat their own fingers and toes, but the idea of losing every happy memory he'd ever had was frightening enough.

Peter leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree, mopping his sweaty brow. It was summer, and he was boiling hot. He'd come to this place only once before, on a tramp with his mother before he came to Hogwarts. Maybe the trees were a little taller, but it seemed largely the same. The birds were chirping loudly, giving him a headache, and there were insects buzzing around as well, so he swatted them away.

Where to go?

The only people who would take him in would be the Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban by pretending to be Imperiused. Many of them, he knew, wouldn't be happy to see him. He was the reason the Dark Lord was gone, however temporarily, and they all knew it. Never mind that it hadn't been his fault. They would still blame him for it. Peter scowled unpleasantly and tried to think of someone who _would_ take him in.

And then a thought came to him. If they had tried so hard to get out of Azkaban, they would not dare turn him in to the ministry or try to punish him, because he could squeal on any of them at anytime. _He_ would be the one in control, for once. The idea pleased him. He would not longer be fat, stupid, tag-along Peter, he would be the one giving the orders.

_The Malfoys_, he decided. Lucius had been a prominent Death Eater before the Great Schism and their Lord's defeat. And the boy had a wife and child, too, who Peter could turn on any time if the Malfoy patriarch displeased him. Oh, he would be a good guest to them, and wouldn't order them around _too_ much. But Lucius would have to use any power he had to protect him.

He apparated to Malfoy Manor with a _pop_ and appeared on their doorstep. He lifted the knocker and knocked, waiting for the Malfoys to let him in.

Lucius Malfoy opened the door and curled his lip. "Pettigrew," he said coldly. "I heard you were dead. I cannot say I am pleased you are not."

"Let me in, Malfoy," demanded Peter, in the same tone. His voice didn't waver, which added to his confidence. "Unless you want me to tell the entire ministry about former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy."

Malfoy regarded him for a moment, his blank mask never falling. Then his eyes danced with an expression Peter could not place, but it put him on edge. "Why not? Come, follow me to the drawing room. My wife is with my son, who is visiting the Notts today."

He stepped back from the doorway and turned from Peter, walking down a long, grand hallway to a door near the end. Peter followed him irritably. Malfoy was making it seem as though _he_ were the one in charge. He was not. _Peter_ was controlling this situation, not him.

Lucius entered the room and chose a chair slightly taller than the others. "Sit," he invited, gesturing to another antique-looking chair. Peter sat, eyeing him warily. Malfoy was up to something, of that he was certain.

"I want your protection," Peter said bluntly. "If you don't give it to me, I will drop a name in the minister's ear."

Lucius _smirked._ He had the audacity to _smirk_ at him, as if Peter was a _joke._ He almost punched him, courtesy be damned. It was the look Sirius had adopted whenever Peter embarrassed himself. "You seem to think you're in a better position to bargain with me than you are, Pettigrew," he said softly.

Peter bristled. "I am not here to bargain. I'm making a demand, Malfoy."

"You are attempting to blackmail me and failing utterly," Lucius corrected, still smirking. "You think Minister Fudge will believe a man who has not been seen for two years, who was certainly a Death Eater and a traitor, against someone who has been cleared of all charges and made _very_ generous donations to St Mungo's Hospital?"

The words struck home, shattering Peter's delusions, and suddenly everything became very, very clear. How had he thought he had a hope of blackmailing Lucius Malfoy? Two years as a rat must have addled his brains. He had been caught up in his dreams of control and forgotten that he had almost no influence, anywhere. The simple, fundamental idea that no one would believe him had never crossed his mind.

He realised his mouth had dropped open, and he closed it hastily, suddenly breathing faster. He knew his face was pale as he realised what a difficult situation he was in. This was Lucius Malfoy's home ground, where he was strongest.

"Now," said Lucius, his voice almost _purring._ "Let's come to an arrangement, shall we? You know the Dark Lord has not been killed, merely... defeated, for a while. I am forming contacts here, establishing a base and preparing for his return. I have no time to search for him, not yet." Lucius held Peter's gaze, and he found he could not look away. "So you will search for me."

"W-what?" gasped Peter. "No!"

"You will," said Lucius, an edge of steel in his voice. "Or I will turn you in to the ministry. Failing that, I will hand you over to the other Death Eaters, who I'm sure are eager to renew their acquaintance with you." His piercing gray eyes had never left Peter's.

Peter shuddered in fear, beginning to curl in on himself. "I can hide," he whispered. "I'm good at hiding."

"That I will grant you, seeing as you have been missing for two years, and no one has heard so much as a rumour of your whereabouts. So that makes me wonder, Pettigrew, why you came here today. Who found you out?" Lucius Malfoy leaned a little closer, and Peter shrank back.

"The werewolf," he whispered. "Lupin."

"Ah, your old friend," said Lucius smugly. "I imagine he was as pleased to see you as I am. But you will not hide, Pettigrew. I will have you swear an Unbreakable Vow."

Peter felt his muscles stiffen and he tried to scramble out of the chair, but Lucius rose and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back, his other hand pulling out his wand a pointing it between Peter's eyes.

"Do not tempt me," said Lucius, a sneer in his voice. "You will stay seated. You will not try to run, or to fight me. You always were a rather poor excuse for a wizard. If we fight, we fight to the death. And don't delude yourself, Pettigrew; you will not be the winner."

Lucius sat back down and waited. Peter did not dare to move, but he didn't know what Malfoy was waiting _for_. There was not much room in his mind for anything other than terror right now. He'd done this to himself, and he knew it, but he could not see what was to be done.

After about ten minutes, each of which crawled by, the fireplace glowed green and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out, her son standing properly at her side. She took one look at Pettigrew and her expression grew both curious and wary. Narcissa flashed a glance at Lucius, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and turned to her son.

"Draco," she told him, "go upstairs, now, and stay there. Ask the house elves for something to eat if you're hungry."

The small blond boy looked around and his eyes settled on Peter, his expression inquisitive, but he obeyed his mother without question. He walked to the door with sharp, deliberate steps that Peter thought had probably been drilled into him as the 'proper' way to walk. _Malfoys always like to convey their status_, he thought, and almost scowled, but he remembered present company and disdained.

Lucius wasted no time in telling his wife what had taken place, and Narcissa's expression went from curious but wary to the blank mask that was starting to get on Peter's nerves. "So. You want me to be your bonder, husband?"

"If you consent," said Lucius, but it was obvious from his tone he expected to be obeyed. Narcissa's blank expression tightened, but she nodded, and took out her wand.

"Kneel, Pettigrew," said Lucius sharply. "Or you will see first-hand how well Malfoys are versed in the dark arts."

Peter let out a squeak, but he could see no way out of it. Hating himself a little, but hating Lucius a _lot_, he knelt. Lucius smirked and knelt opposite, and they clasped hands. Narcissa placed the tip of her wand on their joined hands, and Lucius turned his eyes on Peter.

"Do, Peter Pettigrew, swear that you will search for the Dark Lord with full commitment, whether it cause you to sacrifice time, magic, money, morality, or life?" asked Lucius.

"I - I swear," managed Peter, watching in terror as a tendril of light left Narcissa's wand and wrapped itself around their hands.

"Do you swear that once you have found him, you will give all credit to the name of Malfoy, and make it known you did this not of your own volition?"

_Of course that would be one of his terms, the slippery bastard,_ snarled Peter in his head. "I swear," he muttered, his terror turning into resignation. Another tendril of light coiled around their hands.

"And do you swear once you have found the Dark Lord, you will help him to rise again, and serve him until the time of your death?" Lucius asked.

"I swear," said Peter. The last strand of golden light wrapped around their hands, and all three tendrils flared gold briefly, before fading away. Lucius released him, and stood back up.

"Well, Pettigrew," said Narcissa softly, lowering her wand but not putting it away. "I think you'd better start searching."

* * *

"Catch!" Sirius called to his godson, throwing him a large rubber ball. The three-year-old, who would turn four in a month, laughed and leaped up immediately, stretching out his hands even though the ball had flown too high. Sirius smiled. They'd been on the run for two and a half years, and yet, Harry could still be happy. And that made _him_ happy.

"Not fair!" protested Harry when the ball sailed over his head, but he still ran to retrieve it. They were in a muggle park, in the middle of the town they were staying in. Hiding in the muggle world made keeping Harry a secret easier. Moving around every few weeks also helped. They hadn't been found, though Sirius has spotted a few Order of the Phoenix members around in towns they stayed in, and occasionally an old Death Eater who escaped Azkaban. When that happened, he and Harry left immediately.

Harry tried to throw the ball to Sirius, but it fell short, so the boy who was just growing out of being a toddler ran to collect it and threw it again. Sirius reached up and caught it, grinning when Harry beamed at him.

"All right, that's enough," he called to Harry, giving the ball back to the father of the muggle boy he'd borrowed it from (the boy was on one of the swings). Harry pouted, but then ran up to Sirius and hugged him. Sirius wrapped his arms around the small boy and hugged him back.

"Can we come here again? Can we?" the boy begged, his eyes wide with hope as he looked up at his godfather from within his arms.

Sirius laughed and ruffled his messy black hair. "Of course, Danny," he said. _Danny Lewis_ was the name Harry went by in public, because you never knew who could be listening, or who would come asking after a small boy named Harry Potter. They'd almost been tracked down that way once, and so they'd taken precautions to make sure it didn't happen again.

"Tomorrow?" asked Harry. "Please?"

"Maybe," said Sirius. "Let's go back home now, though. I'm hungry, and it's lunch time!"

He used the word 'home' in the loosest sense of the word. They didn't have a home. Harry had been without a home for so long he barely remembered anything other than roaming around, keeping away from wizards so he could be safe. Sirius had told Harry everything about why they had to move so much - he was _not_ going to lie to him - but he made sure to keep Harry's childish innocence alive, even though he was aware he was a horcrux.

Sirius' stomach growled and Harry giggled. They left the park and the muggles behind, heading for the tiny hotel they were staying at. Only once they were in the safety of their rooms could they talk freely. It was a pain, but better than being caught.

They arrived at the hotel and went up to their room, Harry waving at the man at registration as they did so. As soon as they arrived Harry flopped onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. "When's lunch?" he asked.

"What do you want?" asked Sirius.

"Does it have to be _healthy_?" whined Harry, sitting up and looking pleadingly at his godfather, who chuckled.

"Yes, Harry," he said. Harry pouted, which just made Sirius laugh.

"Please can we get something nice?" Harry asked.

"Salads and sandwiches _are_ nice," Sirius said, trying to sound sincere.

"No, they're not!" protested Harry.

Sirius laughed. "All right, Harry. I'll get you an ice cream as well, how's that?"

Harry leapt off the bed and launched himself into his godfather's arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he said, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Can I pick what flavour? Please?"

Sirius pulled Harry into a tighter hug, and promised himself he would do everything in his power to make sure Harry had the life his parents had died to give him.


	4. Child of My Heart

Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter!

This is the last of the pre-Hogwarts chapters (unless you count Diagon Alley and the train journey), and it's also the last time Remus will appear for quite a while. This is about five years after the last chapter, so Harry is seven years old here. Just so there's no confusion.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Child of My Heart**

"Well, well, what have we here?"

They were obviously Death Eaters, ones who had escaped Azkaban; Harry could tell from their long cloaks and silver masks. And they had been drinking. They had just stepped out of a pub and the smell of alcohol on their breath was making him gag. The bespectacled seven-year-old pressed closer to Sirius' side and glanced up the deserted street, hoping for some form of aid. Nothing. Nowhere to hide and no one to help.

"A pair of muggles, out for bite to eat, maybe?" asked the taller, skinny one. The other was slightly shorter, and a lot larger. Both had drawn their wands.

Harry wished they had not stayed at the shops so long. It was dark now, and if they had left earlier, they wouldn't have run into this pair. But everything had fascinated him, and he'd pushed his nose to every glass window, determined to look even if they weren't buying anything.

He felt Sirius pull his own wand from his pocket, and step slightly in front of Harry at the same time. "I am not a muggle, and neither is Danny," said Sirius slowly, "but if we were, it wouldn't make a difference." There was cold disdain in his voice, but at the same time, caution.

The shorter Death Eater snorted. "Wouldn't make a difference! Ha! Listen to him! I bet he's a blood traitor, that or a mudblood!" He cackled gleefully, raising his wand higher. Harry shuddered.

"And we don't like mudbloods," added the other, who seemed to be a little more sober.

"You should be in Azkaban," snarled Sirius, his grip on his wand tightening.

Both the Death Eaters laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, and it sent a shiver down Harry's back. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He was _not_ afraid of them, or at least, he was determined not to be. Sirius had told him if he ever felt afraid, he had to use the fear to help him, and he had to master it. Right now, that was difficult.

"Aren't you precious," taunted the tall one. "Maybe we should be... but the ministry has a bit of trouble proving that, don't they? And now," he added, fixing Sirius with a glare, "I think you need to pay for your insolence, _blood traitor_."

Sirius raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, they were blasted backwards through the air. Harry slammed down onto the concrete hard, knocking the air out of him and dazing him for a few seconds. Lights danced in front of his eyes and he blinked to get rid of them, trying to pull himself to his feet. He was sore, and he knew he'd have bruises later, but for now adrenaline was rushing through him, and he needed to find Sirius.

"Simon!" he yelled. Just as he was Danny Lewis in public, Sirius was Simon Williamson, Danny's uncle and guardian after his parents died in a car crash. "Uncle Simon!" The terror in his voice was real.

He saw a flash of light coming towards him from his right and ducked instinctively as the curse flew over him. Harry scrambled up and backed away, watching as one of the two Death Eaters - the short, stout one - walked towards him, wand raised. The Death Eater fired another few curses and Harry jumped aside, already trying to decide what to do.

_I can't run off and leave Sirius, but I can't fight him either, not while he's got a wand... _His mind seized on that and he ran _towards_ the Death Eater, startling him for a second, but not for long. His adversary recovered from the shock of a seven-year-old child not running away screaming from a Death Eater and gave an annoyed growl, sending another two jets of light at him. Harry dodged them, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. He needed to get that wand _off_ him.

He heard bangs and saw flashes of light from the corner of his eye, and realised Sirius was duelling the other Death Eater. At least he was safe - well, as safe as you can be in the middle of a battle. Harry was closed the remaining distance between him and the Death Eater he was facing, and grabbed for his wand.

The Death Eater hadn't been expecting that, but his grip was naturally stronger than that of a child. Harry tried to yank it away, but he couldn't quite manage it, and a push from the man's other hand sent him sprawling to the ground.

The man raised his foot and stomped down, hard, and Harry screamed in pain as he felt and heard the bones in his ankle snap with a sickening crack. His stomach twisted and he fought not to be sick, his vision blurring and noises sounding thinner than normal. Pain was blinding him, but he somehow forced his eyes to focus, and he saw the Death Eater pointing his wand at him, and laughing.

"Your screams are music to my ears, little blood traitor," he said maliciously. "I wonder how you'll fare under the Cruciatus."

_No!_ Harry's thoughts screamed; he would _not_ be put under that curse. He felt a surge of adrenaline and reached up, both hands grabbing for the Death Eater's wand. Instead of trying to pull it out of his grip, he snapped it.

The man roared in fury and kicked Harry in the ribs, and, after tossing the broken wand aside, his hands found Harry's throat and started squeezing. He thrashed and tried to pull them off, but the adrenaline surge had gone, and the pain in his ankle was more than he could bear. His airway was constricted, and he couldn't breathe, and his eyes slid out of focus...

And then a flash of red light hit the Death Eater in the back and he collapsed. The pressure on Harry's throat eased and someone kicked the unconscious form of the Death Eater aside. It was Sirius, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at the man in anger and contempt.

"Don't you dare touch him," Sirius snarled, even though the man couldn't hear him. "Are you all right?" he asked Harry, then caught sight of his ankle. "No, you're not," he muttered, and he blasted the Death Eater down the street, where he landed on top of the other Death Eater. Sirius had obviously beaten him in the duel.

Harry meanwhile was fighting to keep conscious. "Can you fix it?" he whispered, and his throat hurt when he used it - an after effect of being strangled, he supposed.

Sirius frowned. "I've never been much good at medical magic, and we can't take you to a hospital; they leave paper trails..." He paused, and sighed. "I must be crazy," he muttered. "But it doesn't look like we have a choice."

Harry's vision faded into unconsciousness, and the last thing he saw was Sirius leaning down to draw him into his arms.

* * *

When he woke up, all he knew was that it must be about midday, judging by the amount of light that made it through his half-closed eyelids. He did not know if he had been unconscious for half a day, or for a day and a half, or even longer. Harry's muscles felt stiff and sore, as though he'd been sleeping in an uncomfortable position - which he had, he realised, when he tried to sit up and his whole body protested.

He had been lying on a couch with a blanket over him, and with the sunlight he was quite warm. His neck felt better, so he tentatively reached up and pushed his finger into the side of it. Nothing. The bruises were gone. Wherever he was, either he'd been there for at least a week, or it was the home of a wizard.

That thought immediately put him on edge and Harry tried to sit up, succeeding this time, but pain shot through his ankle when he jolted it. He pulled the blanket back and was surprised to find it was wrapped firmly in bandages, and he could feel the splint against it.

That meant that either the person who owned this house was on his side, or they hadn't noticed the scar yet. He instinctively reached up and smoothed down his fringe, before realising something was different. Experimentally, he ran his fingers through his hair. It was definitely different. Shorter, and not so messy, but not as straight, either. He glanced over at the window and tried to see his reflection, but he was too far away.

Struck by an idea, he removed his glasses and held them out in front of him, able to see a distorted reflection in the lenses if he held them up a certain way. He managed not to gasp at the difference in appearance, but it was a close call, and he quickly looked over to the door to see if anyone was coming. No one. Just his paranoid reflexes, honed by years of growing up on the run.

He looked back at his reflection, trying to make sense of it. Someone - probably Sirius - had cast a glamour spell on him. His hair was now curly and golden brown in colour, like what honey would look like if it was a few shades darker. His features were sharper, more angled, but as he found when he ran a finger over a more prominent-looking cheekbone, it was just the glamour. He hadn't _actually _changed anything except his hair. That was probably because it would be obvious if his hair was glamoured instead of transfigured, as it was so different, and he had the habit of running his fingers through it. It would look odd if his hair appeared shorter. His eyes were the same colour - his mother's eyes, Sirius had always told him.

He wished he remembered his mother. And his father. It was all right hearing stories from Sirius, who could make even the most boring occurrence sound fun and exciting, but he didn't ever feel like he _knew_ them. The only memory he could call up was a flash of green light, which wasn't something he liked to dwell on. It was the moment that had condemned him to completely abnormal life.

_And all I ever wanted was to be normal. Or at least, halfway there._

Carefully, he eased himself into a sitting position, casting off the blanket and making sure not to jolt his ankle. Harry gazed around, taking in every detail of the room. The wallpaper was pale, slightly faded cream, and there were two windows in the room, one facing north and the other east. The floor was wooden, and there was another couch and a couple of armchairs clustered around a coffee table. Several bookshelves leant against the walls, but he couldn't make out the titles.

The door creaked open and he twisted his neck trying to see who it was. Two men stepped in - one about Sirius' height, but with short black hair and brown eyes, and a man with a slightly smaller build and light brown hair. The black-haired man broke into a grin when his eyes fell on Harry.

"Danny! You're awake!" he declared, then mouthed, "_It's me, Sirius_." Harry understood at once. Sirius, too, had been glamoured. For whatever reason, they couldn't tell the other man who they were. Maybe he was on the other side, or couldn't be trusted, or he might be being watched. Harry didn't know, and he couldn't ask.

So he returned Sirius' smile. "Yeah," he said. "The bruises are gone."

"That's good," said the other man. "Your ankle will take a while longer, I'm afraid, because I don't dare do much with magic about it in case it goes wrong." He and Sirius came and sat down on the couch opposite Harry, who gratefully untwisted his neck and settled back against the cushions. "Simon told me about the Death Eaters," the man continued.

"You were the only wizard in the area I knew of," said Sirius to him, obviously going by his usual pseudonym. "We hadn't met before, but I'd seen you around town a couple of times - remember, Danny?" he said. "I pointed him out, and told you he was a wizard."

"Because you dressed funny," said Harry to the man, catching on to the cover story. The man blushed.

"Well, it's good to see you're feeling better. You're lucky I know a few healing spells, which is more than most wizards. Oh! I haven't introduced myself. I'm Remus Lupin. Call me Remus," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry shook it, but he couldn't help staring at Remus for a moment. Remus had come up frequently in Sirius' tales, but always with a warning: Albus Dumbledore will be watching him. We have to stay away.

Only now, it seemed, they'd been forced to break their own rule. He felt his cheek go red with shame when he realised it was his fault. He was the one who'd been stupid, who'd tried to take on that Death Eater instead of running away and gotten his ankle broken. If he hadn't they might not be in this mess - forced to lie to one of Sirius' friends, just in case someone was watching.

But then, the other Death Eater might have hurt Sirius. Or hit Harry with a spell from behind. Besides, it wouldn't be very Gryffindor to run away, and from Sirius' stories, he knew he wanted to be a Gryffindor. Maybe he didn't entirely believe Sirius' prejudices against Slytherins, but his parents had been Gryffindors. He wanted some way to connect with them, even if it was only a school house. Besides, he knew he could be brave. He was good at it, or so Sirius had said.

It was still his fault, though. If he'd just been faster...

"Hi, Remus," he said quietly, his eyes downcast. Sirius immediately leant in and placed a finger under Harry's chin, raising it so their eyes were level.

"Danny," he said, "Stop it. I know that look. You're blaming yourself for getting hurt, aren't you?" His voice had taken on the gentle tone he always used when comforting Harry, usually after a narrow escape or a nightmare ending with the green light.

Harry tried to avert his eyes, but Sirius kept his fingers under his chin, forcing Harry to look at him, forcing him to understand. "It was _not_, Danny. You're seven years old, for Merlin's sake. You can't be expected to have done any better than you did up against a drunk Death Eater four times your age."

"You don't think it's my fault?" asked Harry, slightly disbelievingly.

Sirius shook his head, and Remus said, "From what I've heard, you did amazingly well, Danny. Now, why don't your uncle and I fetch you some breakfast?"

Harry felt his face break into a grin. "That'd be great," he said. "Thank you."

Sirius followed Remus out of the room, saying, "He likes toast, with peanut butter, but if you've got marmalade or jam on it he won't touch it..."

There came a laugh from the kitchen and Harry shifted on the couch into a more comfortable position, grin still on his face. He couldn't help it. He finally got to meet one of the people from Sirius' stories, one of the Marauders, even. Remus Lupin, otherwise known as Moony, the werewolf and the reason the Marauders became animagi. The quiet, bookish one, prefect, and main planner of all the madcap escapades the Marauders went on. From what Harry had seen, he was exactly as Sirius had described him.

Except for one thing. In all of Sirius' stories, he'd never managed to convey the... weariness that seemed to hang about Remus. It was as though Remus laboured under some heavy burden. Harry supposed that was his lycanthropy, or maybe the fact that he'd lost all of his friends six years ago, and had been alone ever since.

Harry squirmed with guilt when he thought about that. He and Sirius were _in his house_, but they couldn't tell.

Whichever it was, though, Harry felt like he could relate. His finger reached up and traced the lightning bolt scar hidden beneath the glamour, feeling the cold weight that always settled on him when he thought about it. He was a horcrux, and he knew it, because Sirius had never kept it from him, why they had to hide from the world. He knew the feeling that accompanied the knowledge of your own darkness within. Only Remus' darkness was a wolf. Harry's was a piece of the soul of the darkest wizard ever known.

Remus and Sirius came back in, and Sirius handed him a plate of toast and glass of juice. Harry smiled, and thanked him, taking a sip of juice and setting the cup down on a coaster on the coffee table. He nibbled slowly at his toast, watching Remus and Sirius over the top of it.

"So you're Danny's uncle, Simon?" asked Remus, as Harry ate his breakfast.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, he's my sister's son." Harry hid a grin. He and Sirius were good at this - giving away only tiny bits of information but making it seem like a lot. He knew how this would go. Remus would ask questions and Sirius would barely answer, and eventually Remus would stop pressing for more, not wanting to seem rude or prying.

"How old is he, exactly?" said Remus.

"I'm seven," said Harry, swallowing a bite of toast. Now to turn the conversation in a different direction... "How old are you?"

"Danny!" Sirius pretended to chide. Harry ducked his head in a good imitation of shame, hoping Remus didn't notice his face wasn't red.

"Sorry," he said quickly, but Remus didn't appear to be offended, as he waved it off.

"Don't worry about it," said Remus. "I'm twenty-seven, if you really want to know." He gave a light chuckle. "Younger than I seem, I daresay."

He was right; he certainly did look older than twenty-seven. Harry couldn't quite believe it until he remembered Remus and Sirius had gone to school at the same time. Sirius _acted_ so much younger - well, no, that wasn't quite right. Sirius acted a lot younger sometimes, but when they were in a serious situation, he suddenly became a much older person. Remus seemed to be older all the time, instead of just when he was in trouble.

Sirius turned to Remus. "We really can't thank you enough for all you're doing for us," he said.

"It's not a problem," Remus replied. "I'm afraid I don't have much room here, but Simon, you can sleep in the guest bedroom upstairs, and Danny will have to sleep on the couch."

"I don't mind," said Harry, thinking of all the other places he and Sirius had been forced to sleep in while on the run. A couch would be better than hay bales in a barn, or a bench in a schoolyard. But he wasn't stupid enough to say that.

"I think I'll be able to fix your ankle in about a week," Remus told him. "By then all the smaller breaks might have started to set. You'll be able to walk perfectly fine then."

"Great!" said Harry, then he had to cover up a yawn. He blushed. "Sorry," he said, but Sirius was laughing.

"Don't be, kiddo. Get some more rest. You need it."

"I just was resting," Harry protested, but he was already lying back down again and pulling the blanket over himself.

"You were unconscious," Sirius corrected. Harry smiled sheepishly and closed his eyes, falling asleep again.

Over the next few days, they settled into something like a routine. Harry woke up each morning when the light crept under the curtains on the east window, at about seven thirty. Remus would normally be up by this time, but Sirius was always still asleep. At about eight, Sirius would finally get up, and the three of them would have breakfast in the lounge, where Harry and Sirius kept having to dodge awkward questions. After that, Remus would find a book and settle into an armchair, frowning slightly as he read, and Sirius would start teaching Harry wizard's chess.

After the game (which Sirius always won, but Harry had come close a couple of times) it was lunch time, and then Remus would go out to the shops or to visit other friends. During this time, Sirius scoured Remus' bookshelves for books that Harry could read. When Remus came back, they would have dinner, and then Remus would read again, making notes this time on a bit of parchment, before taking his book up to bed. Sirius would retire as soon as Harry was asleep.

It was sort of nice, in a way, having a routine. But it was going to take some getting used to. Harry had grown up on the run, where nothing was ever the same two days in a row. Settling down now - when he knew they'd just have to leave again at the end of the week - was definitely difficult, and the hardest part was always having to guard what he said. He was always conscious of the fact that they could be being watched. Sometimes, he thought he thought he could feel someone watching him, but he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not.

He was very quickly getting to like Remus, who he empathised with and, at the same time, was completely different from. Remus liked reading, and he was always diplomatic and calm. Harry, on the other hand, couldn't read for longer than an hour or so without getting bored, wasn't afraid to take sides, and often went from one emotion to another very quickly. But despite their difference, he liked Remus, and (he hoped) Remus seemed to like him back.

Sirius also seemed to be having trouble settling down. He was restless, always fidgeting, and it was obvious that he hated having to lie to his friend. Harry had caught him casting sorrowful glances at Remus when the werewolf wasn't looking, and then seeming to steel himself and look firmly away. He was anxious for Harry to get better, but at the same time, seemed to be dreading the end of the week.

Harry felt the same way. But he knew that when the end of the week came, they would have to go.

* * *

Remus was dreading the end of the week. With Simon and Danny, he felt the sense of companionship he hadn't felt since Sirius had gone on the run. When Simon had turned up, on a Thursday evening with a seven-year-old boy in his arms and pleading for help, of course he'd taken them in. He knew some basic medical magic from his nights in the Shrieking Shack and he had some medicinal salves and potions, so of course, he'd set to work putting bruise salve on the boy's neck and trying to figure out what was wrong with his ankle.

He'd listened as Simon explained about the Death Eaters, nodding in understanding. It was more common than people seemed to think, for old Death Eaters who'd escaped Azkaban to attack 'blood traitors' and muggleborns in the streets - and when they couldn't find them, muggles. In fact, the most surprising thing was that Danny wasn't hurt worse than he was.

Danny was a lot different to other seven-year-olds. When he'd announced his age, Remus could hardly believe it. He acted older - like nine or ten year old - and there was a shadow in his eyes, as if he had some huge burden to bear. Remus had seen that look before. In the eyes of other werewolves, on those who'd lost family in the first war, on those who'd been tortured, or those wracked by guilt or remorse. It was a look he hadn't ever thought he would see on a child.

But it was there, and whatever burden Danny had to bear, it was plain that Simon was trying his best to take as much of the weight as he could. Remus admired him for that.

He had noticed, though, that both of them seemed to dodge around questions. It had taken him several days to realise, because they could turn the conversation in a new direction so subtly, as though they'd done this sort of thing before. In fact, the only reason he noticed was because he'd done a similar thing himself, when he tried to keep his lycanthropy from the other Marauders.

The Marauders had managed to figure his secret out. But he couldn't figure out what Danny and Simon were hiding, and he didn't want to pry. Some things were better left alone.

But he couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't gone to a hospital and why Danny kept glancing at Simon when he talked about personal subjects, as if wondering what he was allowed to say. He wondered why Danny often gazed around the room in the mornings as though startled it was still the same, and why both of them tensed at the smallest sounds, be it a door creaking open or a fly buzzing into the room. It was as though they felt hunted, though by what, Remus had no idea.

And finally, the end of the week came.

Things went about as usual. He got up and started making some breakfast, then at eight Simon came downstairs and they went into the sitting room, where Danny was already awake, and ate breakfast.

It was Danny who breached the topic first. "Are you going to fix my ankle today?" he asked, looking slightly hopeful but, for some reason, also despairing.

"Yes," Remus said, as Simon cleared away the breakfast dishes. "It won't take long, and it won't hurt." _Unless I get it wrong, in which case I'll have to vanish the bones and make you drink Skele-Gro_, he added, but he did not say this aloud.

"All right," said Danny, with trepidation in his voice. "What do I have to do?"

"Put your foot up on the couch and take off the blanket," Remus instructed, and Simon re-entered the room and sat down on an armchair next to the couch Danny was on. Danny dropped the blanket onto the floor and gingerly lifted his foot up onto the couch.

Remus took out his wand and vanished the splint and the bandage, and Danny sucked in a breath as his ankle was jolted a little. But he set his teeth and did not cry out. Remus was impressed. Most children would scream or cry if they were in even the slightest amount of pain.

He pointed his wand at Danny's ankle, conscious of Simon's presence next to the boy and watching like a mother falcon. "_Tarso emendo,_" he said clearly, and a bluish-white light lit up the ankle for a second as it straightened a little with an audible _click_.

"How is it? Did it work?" asked Simon.

Cautiously, Danny swung his legs off the couch and placed his feet on the floor. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, then beamed when it obviously didn't hurt and took an unsteady step, then another, and then launched himself into Simon's arms and let out a peal of childish laughter. "It's better! It worked!" he cried, as Simon laughed, too, and pulled him closer.

Danny slipped out of Simon's arms and turned to Remus. "Thank you!" he declared, and then gave Remus a hug, wrapping his skinny arms around his waist. Remus was startled for a moment before returning it, feeling a smile come to his lips in spite of himself.

"So - I suppose you'll be leaving, then?" asked Remus after Danny had finally pulled away, in a voice he hoped sounded casual but probably didn't.

Danny bit his lip and looked at Simon, who sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Yes, I suppose we have to," he said eventually. "But - Remus - we're never going to be able to thank you enough. You took us in, mended Danny's foot, gave us food and water and places to sleep. What you've done is amazing."

Remus felt himself go a little red. "Anyone would have done the same," he said. "You don't need to thank me."

"Yes, we do," said Danny stoutly.

"It really seems inadequate, after everything," said Simon, "but thank you, so much, for everything. Maybe one day we'll be able to pay off this debt -"

"You don't owe me a single thing," interrupted Remus, but Simon kept going as if he hadn't heard him.

"- but for now, thank you is all we can say." He pulled Danny into a one-armed hug, but kept his eyes on Remus. "I hope we'll meet again."

"As do I," Remus replied. Simon held out his free hand, and Remus shook it. It was like sealing a deal - that they both acknowledged that Simon and Danny didn't want to go, but had no choice. Perhaps they feared whatever was hunting them would catch up, or maybe someone was waiting for them, somewhere.

"The best of luck to you," said Simon, and Danny echoed him.

"And to you, as well," Remus replied. The pair nodded, and the Simon steered Danny away, out of the room and out of the house. Remus saw Danny wave to him on the way, and heard the door click shut.

They were gone.

And Remus was alone. Again.


	5. Curious Happenings

Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

And, finally, we have an eleven-year-old Harry, who'll be going to Hogwarts soon! Just a note: As this is first year, none of the divergences from canon will be extreme. They'll be very noticeable, but the story that swings the plot in another direction entirely will be the second and third ones. So a lot of events will resemble canon from this point on. Just a warning.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Curious Happenings**

"Sirius! Sirius, look!"

Harry knew he was allowed to use his godfather's real name; Sirius always placed silencing charms around their hotel rooms so they could talk freely. It was whilst they were eating lunch that Harry spotted the tawny owl circling the town, before finally flying towards their hotel window and waiting impatiently for them to open it.

It wasn't the owl that Harry was excited about, though, it was the letter it brought with it. He rushed over to the window and opened it wide, ignoring the owl's hoot of annoyance that he'd taken so long. With trembling fingers, he untied the letter and read the words written in emerald ink aloud.

_Mr D. Lewis_

_Room 23_

_Britannia Hotel_

_Manchester _

He eagerly tore it open and smoothed out the letter. "_Dear Mr Lewis, we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!_" he announced, feeling wild, exuberant joy flood through him.

Sirius laughed and ruffled Harry's hair (which was currently its natural messy black). "Well, your birthday was yesterday, so it's about time they sent you letter!" he declared.

Harry grinned. "_My_ birthday was yesterday," he said, "but Danny's is in two weeks. The fourteenth of August; isn't that what you changed the records to?"

"Yes," said Sirius, waving a hand as if the details weren't important. "So, shall we go in to Diagon Alley on Danny's birthday?"

"Can't we go today?" asked Harry. They hadn't been anywhere where other wizards and witches were since - well, since they'd spent a week at Remus' house. "Please?" he added, giving Sirius his best puppy-dog eyes. "I can't wait two weeks!"

"Well -"

"_Please?_"

"All right, all right!" said Sirius, laughing. "But first, let's go over the cover story, in case someone asks us," he added, sounded a great deal more serious.

Harry recognised the tone and put the letter down on the table, slipping into his chair. "My name is Danny Lewis," he said. "You're my uncle, Simon Williamson."

"Why are you living with me?" Sirius prompted.

"Because my parents were killed in a car crash when I was little. You came out from America to look after me," said Harry. The words came easily. This was the cover story they always used, because it was easy to remember and difficult to disprove. "My father was a muggle named Phillip Lewis, and my mother was a halfblood, and your sister."

"And her name was -?"

"Margaret," said Harry. "She moved to England from America when she was eighteen and fell in love with my father."

"Very good," said Sirius, and Harry smiled at the praise. "Now - one more thing," he said, drawing something out of his pocket. "This is something I've been working on. I won't be able to keep up the glamours at Hogwarts, because you'll be too far away. So I made this." He passed to across the table. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

"You already gave me a present," said Harry, but he grinned and took the object, his eyes widening when he realised what it was.

It was a wooden pendant on a string, making it into a necklace. The wooden pendant had four letters carved into it - J, L, R, and S - and when he slipped it over his neck, he felt his hair shorten and curl, and he knew he'd been fully glamoured again.

"The glamour spells are tied to the pendant. So don't lose it, and don't forget to wear it, even at night," Sirius warned. Harry nodded, removing the pendant and letting it sit in his palm. "Do you know what the letters stand for?"

Harry traced them with his finger. "James," he whispered. "Lily. Remus. Sirius." He looked up to see Sirius smiling at him, and felt a strange lump in his throat. _No. _He was _not_ going to cry. He was eleven years old, and far too old to do something like that.

"We'll be with you, Harry," Sirius said. "All of us, even when it doesn't seem like it."

"Mum and Dad are dead," Harry said, turning the pendant over in his palm. "How are they with me?"

"You'll see," said Sirius, getting up to ruffle Harry's hair again. "They're watching, Harry, from wherever they are, and keeping you safe." He smiled, and then changed the topic. "Now, I'll just glamour myself, and then we can go to Diagon Alley. Got your list? Oh, and you'd better send a reply with the owl saying you're accepting your place at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, grabbing ink, a quill, and some parchment and jotting down a reply. He tied it to the owl's leg and sent it off as Sirius waved his wand and applied the glamours, and then took Sirius' arm. They had decided that they would risk not having anti-apparition wards down, as it would be counter-productive if they needed a getaway, and if they kept their heads down no one would know where they were anyway.

He winced as Sirius apparated, and the air started pushing in, squeezing his as though through a tube, not caring that he felt his eyes would burst and his blood push through his skin. He stumbled when they landed inside the Leaky Cauldron, feeling slightly nauseous as the pressure returned to normal, as though a lot of blood had just rushed to his head. Sirius struck out an arm and caught him.

"Careful there, Danny," he said, and Harry saw the few people in the pub who'd turned to look at them go back to whatever they were doing. Someone murmured "Just another Hogwarts kid" in a dismissive tone, and Harry pretended not to have heard him.

They made their way to the back door and stepped out to the deserted alleyway. Harry couldn't help glancing back through the still-open door and watching the people n the pub. It had been so long since he'd seen another witch or wizard other than Sirius, and now, he was seeing so many together. It was only slightly less staggering than the side-along apparition was.

Sirius tapped one of the bricks above the dustbin, and Harry watched, with an open mouth, as the entrance to Diagon Alley appeared out of the brick wall. His godfather laughed at his expression, and steered him through to the street beyond.

"Come along, Danny. Lots to buy, remember?"

He nodded, but he was still staring even as Sirius led him down the street. A man and woman, obviously of Indian descent, were just coming out of a shop named 'Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment', closely followed by a pair of identical girls about his own age. A sleazy-looking man leant against the wall of another shop, smoking an awful smelling pipe. A man in stately emerald robes walked ahead of them, nose in the air, and sniffing at anything that was obviously not to his liking. A group of older looking girls were clustered together in a group outside the apothecary, giggling madly. Several frazzled-looking store managers were outside 'Eeylops Owl Emporium', calling for a screech owl that had apparently been let out of its cage. A small boy begged his mother to get him a broomstick, but the mother was having none of it.

"_No_, Stuart. _No._ You are too young for a broom."

"But -"

"_No._"

They walked on, and Harry kept looking at everything he could - the buildings, what they were selling, the people in the streets - everything was fascinating him. He recognised places Sirius had told him about, and Sirius pointed out a few people he knew as they walked. His head was starting to hurt from all the information he was trying to cram in.

"That's Elphias Doge - big supporter of Albus Dumbledore, watch out if you meet him - there's Bertha Jorkins, I think she works for the ministry now, she looks almost the same as she did in seventh year - Andromeda Tonks, my only decent cousin, and she's got her daughter with her, I thought she would have left home by now -"

Harry nodded at each name, trying to remember it all. Anything could be important. He had to know who he might be able to trust, and who would rat him out to Dumbledore the second they had even an inkling of who he was.

"And there's Gringotts."

It was a grand-looking building, out of place among the other, shabbier wooden stores around it. It was white, with burnished bronze doors, and a goblin wearing red and gold stood outside, obviously guarding it. From what Sirius had told him about goblins, they were all right so long as you showed them respect. He bowed when they walked past and into the building.

It was spectacular inside. They went through a pair of silver doors into an enormous marble hall, with a long counter in it. Goblins were perched on high stools behind it, some weighing coins on scales, others making notes in thick ledgers of transactions or examining vault keys, trying to detect forgeries. Some goblins were escorting witches and wizards through some of the numerous doors leading off the hall, and still others were simply pacing around, watching everyone with beady eyes as if convinced someone would attempt to steal something.

_You'd have to be mad, _though Harry, but he knew of several mad people, so he supposed it was a necessary precaution.

"They seem to have upped security since I was last here," murmured Sirius. There was a large group of people wanting to access their vaults, so they joined a queue at the counter and waited for their turn.

"Maybe there was a break-in?" asked Harry.

"Maybe," said Sirius, frowning. "We'd better get a newspaper while we're here." The family in front of them moved off, and they stepped up to the counter. Harry was embarrassed to realise his chin only just came up to the top of it, and he stood on tiptoe to see properly.

"We'd like to make a withdrawal from -" Sirius lowered his voice almost to a whisper "- Vault 711." He pulled the key out of his pocket and handed it to the goblin.

The goblin at the counter raised an eyebrow as he examined it and looked decidedly more interested than he had a few minutes ago. He leaned over his book of numbers and whispered, "I suppose you'd like this kept quiet?"

"Yes, thank you," Sirius murmured, and the goblin nodded, handing the key back.

"Gornuk!" the goblin called, and one of the goblins who had been escorting people through the doors came over. The goblin at the counter whispered something in Gornuk's ear, and Gornuk grinned and nodded.

"Come with me," he said importantly, beckoning them with one long finger and showing them through a door into a narrow corridor, made of stone, not marble, and lit by flaming torches. Their shadows flickered and danced along with the flames.

At the end was a set of railway tracks, and when Gornuk whistled, a cart came rattling around and stopped in front of them. They clambered into the cart, and then it sped off, faster than anything Harry had ever been in. It was like a rollercoaster, twisting and turning so suddenly his stomach seemed to be unsure which part of his body it belonged in. It was exhilarating and he almost let out a whoop the first time the hurtled downwards, but managed to restrain himself.

As they plunged downwards, passing underground lakes and caverns, the air seemed to grow colder. Harry's eyes stung with the rushing air, and he almost missed seeing another cart hurtle past them, heading back up towards the warmth and light. It was hard to see, even with Gornuk's lantern, and he had to squint to make things out as they went deeper and deeper.

"So," Gornuk said, as they rattled along. "You have access to the Black Vault?"

_Obviously,_ thought Harry, though Sirius answered more politely. "Yes," he replied, over the sound of the cart rattling and the wind rushing by. The goblin nodded, a small smirk on his face. Harry clenched his fists, but Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said. "The goblins have a sense of honour, and they don't like the ministry very much. They're not going to tell. They'd think it was a great joke, actually, not handing us over. Sort of like a rebellion for them."

Harry relaxed, a bit, and the cart took a sharp right, rounded a corner and stopped outside a small door in the wall. They got out of the cart, the ground feeling oddly solid and stable after being cramped in the shaky cart as it hurtled through the depths of the bank. Sirius handed Gornuk the key, and the goblin unlocked the door.

The sight inside made Harry gasp, even though he'd been expecting it. He knew Sirius had a lot of money in the vault, but not _this_ much. He took off his glasses, polished them, and looked again - yes, it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. There were towers of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, reflecting the light from Gornuk's lantern and making the entire vault seem to glow three different colours. Sirius took out a bag and shovelled some coins into it, handed it to Harry, and filled another one for himself. "Keep a hold of your one," Sirius said. "That's your pocket money for the year, so don't waste it."

"I won't," Harry promised, and they stepped away from the vault. Gornuk shut the door and locked it again, handing Sirius the key back, and they got into the cart again, hurtling back towards the main building, the coins in the bags clinking against each other as the cart took off and swerved around corners.

When they'd been escorted out of Gringotts and back into the sun, Harry's eyes stung, unused to the bright light, and he blinked a few times to get used to it. Sirius grinned down at him. "So how did you like your first ride in a Gringotts cart?" he asked.

Harry laughed. "It was great!" He glanced up and down the crowded street, unsure of where to go. "What do we need to get?"

"Got your list?" asked Sirius, and Harry passed it to him. "Well, uniform's first on here and Madam Malkin's is just over there. Let's go."

Harry followed his godfather into the shop, feeling a little apprehensive. There were racks of robes and coats all over the shop, stools down the back where Harry supposed you stood while being fitted, and bizarre dress robes on display on the left wall. A short witch dressed all in mauve approached them, smiling.

It became obvious that this was Madam Malkin, and that she was the sort of person who smiled at everything. She smiled when she asked if Harry needed Hogwarts robes. She smiled when Sirius said yes, he did. She smiled when she showed them to the stools down the back and smiled when she asked Harry to stand up on one of them to be fitted.

He felt a little ridiculous, standing there while Madam Malkin slipped a robe over his head and started pinning it up, trying to get the right length, smiling as she did so. About halfway through, she began to hum, and Harry decided that was worse than the constant smiling. Every note sounded off-key.

Finally she was finished, and Harry and Sirius left the shop with his new robes. "_Must_ she smile at everything?" he asked, the instant they stepped outside. Sirius laughed and ruffled Harry's hair. It felt strange, since with the pendant on, it was short and curly. He had barely noticed it before, and hoped he'd grow used to it.

"She's always been like that," Sirius said. "Even when I was a kid, and she was just an assistant here, she was always smiling. Shall we go to Wiseacre's now?"

They went to Wiseacre's, the wizarding equipment shop, and bought parchment, ink, and quills, along with his scales, telescope, and phials. Wiseacre's was crowded with people, most of whom seemed to be people buying equipment for Hogwarts. Harry tensed a little. He wasn't very comfortable with crowds of people, having been rather isolated most of his life.

Sirius noticed, and squeezed his shoulder. "Just relax, Danny. I'll get you an ice cream when this is over, okay?"

"Okay," said Harry, taking a deep breath and letting it out again as they went up to the counter to pay.

After they left they went to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where Sirius, true to his word, bought Harry an enormous sundae. They sat in the sun, eating their ice creams (Sirius bought one for himself, too) and watched people go past. When they were finished, they went to the cauldron shop and bought a pewter cauldron, and dumped his uniform and equipment in it, making it easier to carry.

"What else do we need to get?" asked Sirius.

Harry consulted the list. "We still have to go to the apothecary, for potion ingredients," he said, folding it back up and slipping it into his pocket. "And Flourish and Blotts, for my books."

"All right," said Sirius. The apothecary was closer, so they went there first.

Harry's nose was immediately assaulted by a host of different smells. Some were sweet and sharp, pleasant if a little strong, but others smelt foul and made him wrinkle his nose and breathe through his mouth. They walked around the shop, measuring out scoops of bat spleens and snake fangs, and counting out the money they'd need to pay for it. He was glad to get out of the shop when they'd bought everything, as all the smells were starting to get overwhelming. Harry had no idea how he was going to survive Potions, or for that matter, Herbology. Briefly, he considered wearing a clothes peg on his nose, but he decided he could bear it. He didn't think the professors would be amused.

Flourish and Blotts was different again. Tall shelves of books were everywhere in the shop, and the smell of new parchment hung in the air. _This is the sort of place Remus would love_, thought Harry, once again wishing they could have told the lonely Marauder who they were four years ago. _But we couldn't, and it was ages ago,_ Harry told himself firmly, running his finger over several volumes, looking for _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_.

He and Sirius decided to split up, Sirius searching for the top half of the list and Harry for the others. He wondered why the Hogwarts books weren't stacked together, but then considered how cramped that would make that section of the shop and decided it was better this way.

He reached for a copy of _The Dark Force: A Guide to Self-Protection_, and laid a hand on it just before another boy did. Harry glanced up and met the boy's eyes.

He was taller than Harry already, with blond hair, brown eyes, and a coldly superior look on his face. The boy tugged the book away from Harry and placed it in his bag, a small smirk on his face.

"Hey!" protested Harry. "That was mine!"

"And now it's mine," retorted the blond boy, looking down his nose at him. "I suppose you're a first year, too?"

"Yes," Harry snapped. "Give me the book back!" There was an entire stack of the books next to them, but that wasn't what they were arguing over, not really. It was more about the principle, and the fact that this boy had taken it, yanked it out of Harry's grip when he'd been there first instead of waiting and taking the next one.

"No," the boy said. "Like I said, it's mine now. Who are you, anyway?"

"Danny Lewis," Harry said, and the boy's expression, if possible, became smugger. He now looked positively condescending. Harry wanted to hit him, but decided it was probably better not to do that in the middle of the shop. _Never draw attention to yourself_, said a voice that sounded remarkably like Sirius in his head. Harry had never thought that would be _difficult_ to do.

"Zacharias Smith," said the boy. He turned and walked up to a couple - probably his parents - and the man gestured in Harry's direction. Smith waved a hand dismissively. "It's just some halfblood or muggleborn. No one important," Harry heard him say.

Harry almost went after him, but thought better of it and picked up another copy of Quentin Trimble's book. He found he was shaking with suppressed rage - that Smith had taken his book, and looked so annoyingly _smug _about it, and then called him a nobody and walked away as if Harry wasn't worth his time! _If he knew who I was -_ Harry thought, but stopped. If he knew who Harry was, he'd tell the ministry. He doubted Smith was on the same side as him.

_I think I hate him,_ Harry realised. _I hope that boy isn't in my house at Hogwarts. That would be awful._

"Harry? You alright?" Sirius' voice drifted over the shelves of books, and he came around one of the shelves with a pile of books in Harry's cauldron. "Did you get everything?"

"I've just got to get _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger," Harry said, looking down at the list and placing the rest of his books in the cauldron.

"I think I passed that one," Sirius said, leading him to another part of the bookshop. "Yes... here it is. Shall we go pay?" Harry nodded in assent, and they paid for the books and left the shop.

"Anything the matter?" Sirius asked when they had left.

Harry looked down at his feet. "I met a boy called Zacharias Smith in the shop," he admitted, feeling his cheeks flush slightly, even though he knew Sirius wouldn't think he was stupid for getting upset.

"Smith?" asked Sirius. "They're an old pureblood family, and apparently they're descended from Helga Hufflepuff. So they say, anyway. They tend to act rather superior around anyone who's not pureblood. It's not always just the Slytherins who are bigots."

Harry nodded. "He was rather like that."

"Don't worry about it," Sirius said. "You know who you are, even if he doesn't. But that's beside the point, Danny. Blood doesn't matter. Some people just like to think it does."

"I know," Harry said quietly, thinking of his mother and the stories Sirius had told him about her. He _had_ been stupid to let Smith get to him, but the boy rubbed him the wrong way. "Just my wand left, right?"

"Yes," said Sirius. "To Ollivanders!" he announced, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Harry laughed and they set off down the street. He managed to push Smith from his mind when they entered the shop (_Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC)_. He could feel the magic hanging in the air, making his senses tingle and smile creep onto his face. A bell tinkled somewhere, announcing their arrival, and Harry glanced around. There was a spindly chair in one corner, and behind the counter were stacks and stacks of boxes.

"That's where the wands are, right?" he whispered to Sirius. The silence was unnerving him. The rest of Diagon Alley had been bustling and noisy - but here, all was quiet, as though some great beast would wake if they raised their voices.

"Yes," Sirius replied, also whispering.

Harry glanced around again, wondering where the shop owner was. He caught sight of a wand on top of a purple cushion in the window, and wondered what was special about it.

"Good afternoon."

Harry jumped, and scolded himself for not hearing someone coming. An old man, who he supposed was Mr Ollivander, had come up to the counter of the shop and was staring at them through silvery eyes. A second later, Harry realised the man _wasn't_ staring, but his eyes were so round it made him look like he was. Harry fought the urge to shrink to Sirius' side, the way he had when he was smaller.

"Er - hello," he said, watching Mr Ollivander carefully. Something about him set him on edge.

"Hello," Mr Ollivander replied. "You are here, I presume to purchase a wand, unless you're one for idle chit-chat. May I ask your name?"

For some bizarre reason, Harry had to swallow the urge to say his real name. Maybe it was part of the magic in the shop. "Danny Lewis," he got out, unable to take his eyes off Ollivander.

"Lewis," said Ollivander, rolling the word around in his mouth. "I don't believe I've sold to anyone of that name, and believe me, I remember every wand I've ever sold."

"I - my parents came here from America," Harry stammered. He couldn't help glancing at the door, as though searching for and escape.

Mr Ollivander nodded. "Are you his father, sir?" he asked Sirius, who shook his head.

"Uncle. His parents died in a car crash. Nasty business. I came out here to look after him," Sirius said, and Ollivander nodded again. Harry noticed Sirius had his hand in his pocket, pushing his wand in deeper as if to hide it. He wasn't the only one with paranoid instincts.

"Now, Mr Lewis," said Ollivander, turning back to Harry, "which is your wand arm?"

"My right," said Harry.

"Hold it out - that's it," said Mr Ollivander, pulling out a tape measure, which proceeded to measure every part of Harry's arm that seemed to be there - elbow to wrist, shoulder to fingertip, around his forearm and across his knuckles, and all the while Mr Ollivander was talking about wand cores and woods. The tape gave up on his arm, and measured around his head, his neck, and waist, across his shoulders and between his nostrils.

"Enough," said Ollivander. The tape measure dropped to the floor and Sirius kicked it away. "Now - try this wand, Mr Lewis. Aspen, nine inches, dragon heartstring. Springy." He took a box down and handed Harry the wand.

He waved it, but nothing happened. Ollivander snatched it away and handed him another. "Here - cherry and phoenix feather, twelve inches, swishy -" but that wasn't right either, and so he tried a third wand (birch and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, brittle) and a fourth (ash and dragon heartstring, eleven and three quarter inches, stiff) and a fifth, sixth, and seventh. He kept trying wands, and none of them seemed to work; the pile of wands he'd tried was growing to a monstrous size and he thought he might have tried half the shop.

Harry felt his face going red, but Ollivander was in his element. "Don't worry, tricky customers are always the best ones - spruce and unicorn hair, fourteen inches -" and another wand joined the pile, because that was not right, either.

"Hmm... well, we can always try. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand, certain it would fail like all the others, but when he waved it he felt a warmth in his fingers, and red and gold sparks flew out, lighting up the dusty shop and throwing strange shadows against the walls. Sirius squeezed his shoulder and Mr Ollivander said, "Bravo, bravo!"

"So this is my wand?" Harry asked, hoping the answer was yes.

"Of course... but curious, very curious... one wonders why you are destined for this wand, Mr Lewis," said Ollivander, suddenly leaning closer and glancing from the wand to Harry's face. Harry shivered under the intense gaze, shifting from foot to foot.

"If I may ask, Mr Ollivander - why is it curious?" said Sirius from beside him. Ollivander turned to look at him, and Harry gratefully took a step back.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, sir. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in Mr Lewis' wand gave another feather - just one other. It is curious that this wand should go to him, when its brother - why, it's brother is the wand I sold to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

It was as though a sudden chill had descended on the room; Harry took another step back and found himself pressed against Sirius' side. _It's more curious than you know_, he thought, examining the wand with a different expression. _This is the brother wand to the one that destroyed any chance I had at a normal life. This is the brother wand to the one that claimed so many lives in the first war._

"You - you sold that wand?" Harry managed to say, after an awkward pause.

"Yes," said Ollivander gravely, his eyes back on Harry. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful, and if I'd known what it was going out to do..." He shook his head, perhaps to clear it of past regrets. "It is done; I cannot fix it. But I know we can expect great things from you, Mr Lewis. One might even think you were destined to go up against him should he rise again... but now is not the time for such morbid thoughts. Seven galleons, please, and then you may go to enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

Harry shivered and handed the seven galleons over, and he and Sirius left rather quickly.

"I don't think I like him," he whispered when they'd left, still feeling slightly shaky. Everything looked a little surreal. Mr Ollivander had seemed very suspicious - what if he put the pieces together, and figured out that he was Harry Potter? What if he told the ministry, or Dumbledore? He wasn't sure he wanted this wand, but - when he'd held it, it had felt _right._ He knew this was meant to be his wand.

He just wished it wasn't the brother wand of Voldemort's.

"Don't worry," Sirius told him. "Everything will be all right, you'll see. Let's get a newspaper, shall we?"

Harry nodded, and they bought a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and sat down inside the Leaky Cauldron to read it. Sirius had glamoured himself and come to Diagon Alley every month or so to get a copy of the paper, thinking it was important to keep up with the news. They always read it cover to cover, looking for little hints as to what the general situation of the wizarding world was like. Rita Skeeter continually dedicated an entire column to the 'Horcrux Crisis', as she had dubbed it, summarising what had happened so far and updating it with fresh news as it came in - false alarms of sightings, official comments, and the latest rumours. Harry winced a little whenever he saw it.

"Simon!" he said suddenly, pointing to an article on the front page. "You were right about a break-in - look!"

**A BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS!**

**_Wednesday, August 1, 1991_  
**

**Sources have uncovered that Gringotts was broken into on 31 July. Not much information has been forthcoming regarding the lapse in security, but it is believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown. It has been noted that there is now a higher level of security in the bank to prevent another such break-in.**

**It is unknown what was taken, if anything, and which vault or vaults were targeted. Gringotts has been broken into before, but the thieves were always caught within minutes. This time, it looks as though the thieves have escaped.**

**Gringotts is expected to elect a spokesgoblin and issue an official statement regarding the break-in. Until then, the **_**Daily Prophet**_** will continue to keep readers supplied with news.**

Sirius put the paper down. "The last thieves to break in were Death Eaters, searching for some way to bring You-Know-Who back to life." Harry knew Sirius wasn't afraid to say the name, but in public, they had to pretend to be to avoid suspicion.

Harry shivered. "Death Eaters," he whispered. "There could have been Death Eaters here _yesterday_?"

Sirius nodded grimly. "I don't know what they were looking for, or even if it was anything in particular. But they got away, Danny. That's worrying."

Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. _They got away. How powerful were they? And they're obviously still at large._ "Can we go home?" he whispered, no longer eager to read the rest of the newspaper.

"Sure," said Sirius, folding up the paper and placing it in the cauldron along with the rest of Harry's things. "And then you can pack, all right? Take your mind off things. We've got a spare trunk somewhere, I think."

"Okay," said Harry, taking Sirius' arm. They disapparated with a _crack_, and Harry, once again, felt the uncomfortable sensation of side-along apparition. They landed back inside Room 23, and this time Harry had to catch himself, as Sirius, too was unsteady from carrying the cauldron full of Harry's things.

The atmosphere was very different to the euphoria that had been present when they left. Between Ollivander, and the crowds, and Smith, and the Gringotts break-in, he just wanted to _rest._

"Go grab yourself something to eat," said Sirius. "I'll find the spare trunk. And I think we should turn in early tonight, don't you?"

Harry nodded, heading for the kitchen. Despite Sirius' words outside Ollivander's earlier that day, he couldn't truly believe it would be all right.


	6. The Journey to the North

Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

About Harry's friends: Yes, he will be friends with Ron and Hermione. However, it may take a while longer and be a more tentative friendship for longer, particularly as Harry doesn't trust people easily. Harry's also going to have other friends as well.

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Journey to the North**

The staff meeting held the day before the school term began was always more speculative than anything else. Some of the professors liked to go over the list of first-years and try to predict which houses they would go into. Some years they speculated on which students would cause the most trouble, but they hadn't done that for the past few years; everyone knew that the Weasley twins were more trouble than any other student could ever attempt to be. Occasionally there was a heated debate over whether or not the prefects that had been chosen were the right people to pick.

The meeting on the thirty-first of August, 1991, was a bit different.

It started out normally enough. Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, waiting for the other professors and staff members to make their way to his office and absent-mindedly stroking Fawkes' tail feathers. Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were the first to arrive, deep in a discussion about an article in the _Daily Prophet_. Argus Filch, the caretaker, stalked in with Mrs Norris at his heels and an unpleasant look on his face. Professor Sinistra, Professor Vector, and Professor Trelawney came in next, Trelawney and Sinistra discussing Astronomy and Vector occasionally chipping in when the topic swung towards angles and calculations. Professor Babbling followed them in, muttering various runes and their translations under her breath. The only ghost teacher, Professor Binns, drifted in through the wall.

Madam Hooch walked in briskly, fresh from a flight around the Quidditch Pitch. Professor Quirrell was walking just behind her, rubbing his hands together nervously. Professor Burbage came after him, rereading notes about the muggleborn students, whom she was in charge of. Professor Snape swept into the office and took his seat, black robes billowing around his heels and a look halfway between a grimace and a sneer on his face as he contemplated another year of teaching. Madam Pince and Madam Pomfrey were next, deep in a conversation about the new students and the amount of vandalised books and broken limbs they'd have to deal with. Professor Sprout entered, still wearing her gardening gloves and hat. Bringing up the rear were Professor Kettleburn and Rubeus Hagrid, who were discussing some strange, exotic creature the others had barely heard of.

Professor Dumbledore tapped his wand against his desk and several sparks flew out of the end, signalling the beginning of the meeting. The various conversations dropped to a dull murmur and then ceased, and the staff turned expectantly towards Professor Dumbledore.

"Tomorrow," Dumbledore began, "begins another year at Hogwarts, with new students, and new opportunities. Does anyone have anything to discuss before we begin?"

"I do," said Professor Burbage, glancing up from the list of muggleborn students. "Apparently there was a mishap and one muggleborn student received their letter but no one was there to deliver it, and we only sent a representative a week later. There was some confusion until then, and the family regarded the letter as a joke and had thrown it away. Are we going to do something to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

"There's nothing to be done, except double-checking the records and letters," said Professor Dumbledore. "That is unfortunate. Which student was this?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," Professor Burbage replied.

"Was an apology delivered to the family?" inquired Professor Sprout, removing her gardening gloves and placing them on the floor beside her chair. Professor Burbage shook her head.

"We'll send one off after the Sorting," decided Professor Dumbledore. "His head of house can send it." Professors Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall, and Sprout nodded assent, and the murmur of speculation started up again. Dumbledore tapped his wand against his desk for attention.

"Are there any other matters anyone wishes to discuss?" he asked.

"Yes," said Madam Pomphrey. "My stocks of medical potions are running low. Severus, would you mind brewing some more for me, or getting one of your NEWT classes to do so?"

Professor Snape curled his lip, but said, "It is not a problem, Poppy," in a somewhat stiff voice. Madam Pomphrey settled back into her seat again.

"Now," said Professor Dumbledore. "If there are no other matters for discussion, there are a few things I need to speak to you all about." He glanced around at the rest of the staff members. "As many of you are aware, we are keeping the Philosopher's Stone beneath the trapdoor in the third floor corridor this year."

Hagrid drew himself up importantly when Dumbledore mentioned his name. "Hagrid here brought it from Diagon Alley in the nick of time, because as you may have heard, Gringotts was broken into that same day. So I have felt it - prudent - to set up certain protections around it, and I have asked several other professors to do the same."

"The trustworthy ones," Professor Vector murmured, with a glance towards Professor McGonagall, who had fallen out with Dumbledore after she defected from the Order of the Phoenix. Professor Sprout had firmly sided with her.

Of course, Flitwick would also no longer have anything to do with the Order, but since he hadn't been a member in the first place, and hadn't openly declared that he no longer respected Dumbledore's ideals, Dumbledore's trust in him seemed unshaken. He had contributed to the protections around the stone, along with Professor Snape, Professor Quirrell, Hagrid, and Professor Babbling (who had been asked to create a protection in place of Professors McGonagall and Sprout).

Professor Dumbledore glanced at Professor Vector, but she didn't say anything else, so he continued. "Due to the nature of the protections, it is imperative that students stay away from that corridor at all times. Professor Babbling, and Professor Burbage, your classrooms have been moved to the same ones on the fourth floor, and Professor Quirrell, your fourth floor classroom is now on the second floor."

The professors nodded, making a note of the changes.

"And... one final thing," said Professor Dumbledore. He leaned forward, lowering his voice as though he was about to tell some great secret. "This year we will almost certainly have some children in this castle bearing a lightning bolt scar."

The atmosphere changed in an instant: Professor McGonagall clenched her fists and glared at the headmaster, Madam Pomfrey gasped, and Professor Snape's sneer grew more pronounced, as if it were somewhat forced. Argus Filch snarled. Professor Dumbledore only smiled gravely and let out a sigh.

"I am aware some of us have conflicting views over this matter," he said, "but I ask for one thing: if any of you _do_ notice any student acting strangely, or if you figure out who one of these children might be, report it to me. Immediately." His gaze swept around the room. "However, we must keep the other students' trust in their professors. That means we must not use legilimency, or veritaserum, or cast _finite incantatem_ on every student searching for glamour charms. We must tread carefully."

He seemed to be looking particularly at Professor Snape as he spoke. Said professor ignored the look.

"Meeting adjourned," declared the headmaster, and the other staff members rose and left the office to continue what they'd been doing before.

* * *

"Got everything, Danny? Robes, cauldron, scales? Telescope? Did you remember your -"

"_Yes_, Simon, I've got everything," Harry cut in exasperatedly. "You already made me check three times. I haven't left anything behind, I'm certain." They were wheeling his trolley through King's Cross Station, trunk perched precariously on it and threatening to fall off every time he made a turn.

"Good," said Sirius. He leaned closer, and whispered the next words so quietly Harry could barely hear them. "Now - Danny, listen. You have to be careful at school. Everyone will be looking out for the horcruxes, so you need to be on your guard. Try and make friends with people who have family high up in the ministry, for instance."

"Like _Slytherins_?" asked Harry.

Sirius looked abashed. "Well - no, not unless you _really_ want to, Danny. But not all the ministry high-ups are Slytherins. Amelia Bones, for instance. Her niece's starting this year. Paula Edgecombe's daughter is a second year, and I think Amos Diggory's son is in his third or fourth year."

Harry hesitated. "But - I don't just want to be friends so they can help me. I want to be friends with people who - well, people who want to be friends."

"So don't, Danny. Make other friends as well, and don't befriend anyone you don't like. But keep it in mind, okay?" Sirius said.

"I will," Harry promised. Sirius pushed the trolley past another few platforms and brought it to a halt, staring at the ticket barrier between platforms nine and ten. Harry felt his face twitch into a grin. _Hogwarts. I'm going to Hogwarts._

"And if you find your father's invisibility cloak or the Marauder's Map, make sure you send me a letter about it. In fact, send me a letter about _anything _weird - or dangerous," Sirius added in a low whisper. "Be careful, Danny. I mean it. Don't draw attention to yourself, and don't run blindly into things. But make sure you relax, and enjoy yourself. Try to have a normal school year."

"Nothing's ever been normal, for me," said Harry softly, a wry smile on his lips. He took the trolley from Sirius and determinedly pushed it towards the barrier, shuddering a little as he passed through it. It was hard to believe he wouldn't crash. The barrier looked so solid.

He blinked, and suddenly, he was standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. A gigantic scarlet engine sat proudly on the tracks, billowing smoke into the air. A sign declared _Hogwarts Express, Eleven o'clock_, and another, behind him, stated the platform number.

People were loading their trunks onto the many carriages of the express, laughing and chatting as they did so. Pets that had made a bid for freedom flew overhead (in the case of owls) or else prowled around people's legs or hid in shadowy corners of the platform. Families stood in clusters, with parents giving last minute advice and telling their children to write every day, and the children promising with fingers crossed behind their backs.

Harry watched the families conversing with an almost hungry feeling. A pair of red-haired boys seemed to be arguing with their mother, and he turned his ear slightly to hear them.

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea, though, thanks, Mum."

He laughed in spite of himself, and caught part of another conversation between a blond-haired man and his son, both who held themselves haughtily and reminded Harry of Zacharias Smith.

"Now, Draco. Remember. You are to behave, at all times, in a manner befitting to the pureblood heir of the Malfoy family."

"Of course, father," came the low murmur of a reply.

Harry felt someone come up behind him and jerked around, but it was only Sirius. He relaxed, smiling, as Sirius took the trolley and said, "We'd better put your trunk on the train, hadn't we?"

"Don't want to miss it," Harry replied, following his godfather as he selected a carriage and heaved the trunk up into it. Somewhat close to half the students seemed to be on the train already and more were coming on every second. Finding an empty compartment was impossible.

In the end, Harry poked his head into a compartment that already had two first years in it - a pink-faced girl with blond pigtails and a dark haired boy with a pointed chin. "Is it all right if I sit here? I can't find an empty compartment."

"It's fine," the girl assured him. "We're only expecting two others, so there'll be room."

Harry grinned and sat down on the same seat as the boy, leaving a space in the middle in for someone else. Sirius hoisted his trunk up onto the rack, gave him a fleeting hug and a whispered goodbye, and closed the door to the compartment.

"I'm Michael Corner," the boy announced, sticking out his hand. Harry shook it. "This is Hannah Abbott." The girl smiled and waved. "And you are -?"

"Danny Lewis," Harry said, leaning back against the chair. It was quite comfortable.

"Pleased to meet you," said Michael. Harry noticed there was a book in his lap - one of the first-year textbooks, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Harry decided that this boy was probably going to be a Ravenclaw. At his feet was a cage with a tawny owl in it.

The door to the compartment slid open again, and another blond-haired girl came in. Her hair was in a single plait down her back, though, not in pigtails. "Hi, Hannah," she said, taking a seat next to her, then glanced at the other two people in the compartment. "Hello. I'm Susan Bones."

Harry blinked, and then said, "Danny Lewis," at the same time as Michael said "Michael Corner."

Susan shook head, laughed, and then said, "One at a time, or I can't understand you!"

"Sorry," said Harry. "I'm Danny Lewis, and this is Michael Corner."

"Is Danny short for Daniel?" asked Susan curiously.

"Er - yes, I think so," said Harry, then realised how that would sound, so he hastily added, "I've always been called Danny, ever since I was a kid. I never use my full name."

Susan nodded in understanding, and the door opened again. When Harry realised who it was, he scowled, but figured it would be rude to just get up and leave. Besides, he wasn't sure he'd be able to lift his trunk up to another rack.

"Good of you to join us, Zacharias," said Susan, and there was a note of coolness in her voice now. Harry got the impression she didn't like him very much. He could not blame her.

Smith inclined his head. "And you." He looked over the others in the compartment, and frowned when he noticed Harry. "Lewis, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Harry replied, and the note of coolness had slipped into his voice, too.

"And I don't know who you are," he said to Michael.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Michael Corner. Where's your trunk?"

"Already here," replied Smith, and, to Harry's dismay, he sat down between him and Michael. "Why, didn't you think of that?" he added, somewhat sarcastically. Maybe he thought Michael was beneath him, too, or perhaps they knew each other before and had never seen eye to eye.

"Leave him alone, Zacharias," said Susan, and Harry noticed she was glaring at him.

"If you insist," replied Smith, leaning back with a casual grace. "Hello, Hannah. Thank you for inviting me into this compartment - even if there are some _unsavoury_ characters here." He was looking at Harry as he said it.

Hannah didn't seem to notice, and went, if possible, even pinker. "Oh - that's all right, Zacharias," she said quickly. Susan elbowed her in the ribs.

"Can't you see he's a git?" Harry heard her mutter. Smith didn't seem to have heard, because he'd managed to start up an argument with Michael Corner again.

A whistle sounded, somewhere, and the doors up and down the train began to close. Harry got up and leaned out of the window, trying to catch sight of Sirius on the platform. Michael, Susan, and Hannah tried as well, making the window a bit crowded, but they managed to fit. The train started moving.

"Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!" called Hannah, waving frantically to her parents. Susan smiled and laughed, content with a wave to her aunt, and then sat back down. Harry managed to spot Sirius on the platform and waved, cocking his ear to hear what he was saying.

"Have fun!" Sirius called, as the train began to pick up speed.

"I will!" he promised, and heard Smith snort. Michael, who was closest, managed to kick him while waving to his own parents. Harry frowned, wondering why Smith hadn't said goodbye, and took his seat again. Did Smith think himself too superior to stand at a window and wave?

"He is _not_ a git, Susan," he heard Hannah say, and he realised she and Susan had resumed their previous conversation, and Michael and Smith had resumed their argument, which was about something so inane Harry didn't bother to listen. "Don't be so mean."

"Yes, he is," Susan whispered emphatically. "He didn't even say goodbye to his family."

"That's because he's _dignified_," Hannah replied dreamily, "and _elegant,_ and -"

"For Merlin's sake, you're eleven years old! You're too young to have a crush!" Susan told her, elbowing her in the ribs again. She looked up and met Harry's eyes. "Danny, tell her she's too young to have a crush."

"I - you're too young to have a crush," said Harry, startled. Hannah crossed her arms, looking irritated.

"I am _not_."

"Yes, you are," Susan replied.

"I'm _not._"

"You _are._"

It was one of the most pointless arguments Harry had ever heard, even worse than Smith and Michael's, and they had reduced themselves to insulting each other as well as they could - which was not very well. Insults slid off Smith like water, and Michael could think up a witty retort to anything.

"You're just some little bookworm," Smith said. "Why don't you go back to your textbooks?"

"I would, only for some stupid reason, you seem to want to argue with me," Michael snapped, his ears going red.

"I assure you, I don't _want_ to argue with you."

"Then why are you still talking?" Michael's owl let out a hoot that sounded like agreement, and Harry hastily covered up his snort of laughter.

Harry watched out the window as London passed, and fields started to appear, dotting the landscape and flitting past as the train sped on. A ridiculous smile had slipped through his blank mask, which he had never been good at maintaining. He was on his way to Hogwarts, like a normal eleven-year-old wizard. For a moment, he could pretend he was normal, just like Susan, Hannah, Michael, and Smith - not that he wanted to be like Smith.

Eventually, Smith and Michael stopped arguing, as Michael returned to his book and Smith engaged Hannah in a conversation. Susan, who was sitting opposite Harry, rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned back.

"Do you know what she sees in him?" asked Susan. "Because I have no idea. She only met him last year, you know, when his family had this big ball." She frowned in distaste.

Harry shrugged. "I ran into him at Flourish and Blotts. He didn't recognise my name, so he just walked off as if I was no one."

"Yes, that sounds like him," said Susan, with a little sigh. "Unfortunately, I think he's going to end up in my house, if we both go where the rest of our families have been. Hufflepuff," she added, at his blank look.

"Oh," he said. "Right. My family -" he caught himself before he said _were Gryffindors,_ instead amending it to "- lived in America, so I don't know where I'll end up."

"America?" said Susan, looking interested. "Have you been there? Were you born there?"

"No," he said. "My parents moved here before I was born." He didn't add anything else; the slightly normal atmosphere hadn't seeped so far into his mind that he'd forgotten everything. He hoped he could find some way of making sure it didn't. Relaxing was fine, but it wasn't something he could afford. _No one can know who I am. No one._

It was lonely, but it was a small price for a hallway normal life.

Susan nodded, glancing at Hannah, who was still talking to Smith. "Hannah, have you had the chance to talk to Danny here yet? His parents were American, but they moved her before he was born."

"Really?" said Hannah, letting herself be pulled out of her current conversation as Smith, too, turned to Harry. "Wow. My family's pretty boring - English as far back as anyone can remember."

Smith was looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. "So you are a pureblood, just an American one?" he asked.

"No," Harry snapped. Smith was rubbing him the wrong way again. "Why do you have to act so bigoted? You're being a prat."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "You're calling me _bigoted_? And a _prat_? Do you even know who I am? Probably not, since you're a halfblood, but the Smith family is descended from Helga Hufflepuff _herself._ You have no right to stick labels on me."

"Funny, because you seem to be fond of doing just that," said Michael, looking up from his book again. Smith glared, but since Michael had returned to reading as soon as he'd said it, the glare had no effect.

Hannah, however, looked a little hurt. "Zacharias," she whispered, "do you really think someone's worse less because they're a halfblood?"

_Oh, dear Merlin,_ thought Harry, from the expression on Susan's face, she was thinking along the same lines. Zacharias looked at Hannah and gave her a little smile. "Of course not, Hannah. They're only worth less if they don't acknowledge the purebloods. He insulted me, didn't you hear?"

"Oh - I'm sure he didn't mean it," said Hannah, looking relieved again. "Don't worry, Zacharias, _I_ won't insult you - ow! Susan!"

_Can't she see he's leading her on? _thought Harry bitterly, giving Smith a look of utmost loathing. He had never hated anyone more than he hated Smith right now. _He's just playing with her._

"Hannah," said Susan, in a quiet, flat voice. Smith had stopped listening, and was at the compartment door, checking down the corridor for the food trolley. "Stop it. You're overreacting to him. Maybe you like him, but you need to tone it down. You're eleven, for Merlin's sake."

Harry didn't think it would work, but, to his surprise, Hannah hesitated, and then nodded. "I don't know if I can - but I'll try, Susan. But I do like him."

"You're blind," Michael muttered. Hannah ignored him.

Smith came back in, several packets of sweets in his arms. "Oh, the trolley's here," he said, sitting down again. Harry, Susan, Hannah, and Michael got up immediately, pockets jingling with coins, and stepped out into the corridor.

The trolley lady smiled at them. "Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked kindly, if a little patronisingly.

Susan bought several chocolate frogs and a cauldron cake, Hannah bought some Droobles Best Blowing Gum, a pumpkin pasty, and some liquorice wands, and Michael bought a pasty and a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Harry, however, took one look at the trolley, and knew it was pointless trying to decide. "One of everything, please," he said quietly, counting out some coins. The lady smiled at him, and handed him the sweets.

Everyone was rather quiet for a while as they sat and ate their sweets. The countryside was still flashing by out the window, but it was growing wilder. The neat fields were gone, and instead they passed forests and hills covered in heath. Michael was reading his book and grimacing at the taste of a bean at the same time, Hannah and Susan were quietly talking with each other, and Smith was staring out the window with a bored expression on.

There came a knock at the door and it slid open, revealing a girl with bushy brown hair and a boy with a tearstained face. "Has anyone seen a toad?" the girl said, in a bossy tone. "Neville's lost one."

"Of course we haven't -" began Smith, but stopped when Michael hit him on the head with his book. "Ow! What was that for?"

"We haven't seen one," said Hannah, and the boy - Neville - let out a little wail of despair. "We'll tell you if it turns up, all right?" she said hastily.

"Thanks," sniffed the boy. "Sorry... he just keeps getting away from me! I can't find him!"

"Someone will have seen him," said the girl. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way - no one in my family's magic at all, you see -" Smith let out a snort, and there was a soft thump as Michael hit him with the book again "- and everything's just been so amazing, I memorized the text books, of course, I just hope it will be enough - so what are your names? Oh, and this is Neville Longbottom."

She said this very fast, and Harry had to blink and pause for a second to register that she'd asked a question.

"Danny Lewis," he said. "And this is Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Michael Corner and -"

" - a git," Michael interrupted, nodding towards Smith, who sputtered indignantly.

"And Zacharias Smith," put in Hannah, with a frown at Michael.

"Did you really memorize the text books?" asked Michael, sounding somewhat bemused. "I'll see you in Ravenclaw, then, I suppose?"

"Oh, no, I've been asking around, and I'd much rather be in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best," said Hermione. "Neville's family were Gryffindors, too, and did you hear that Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor?"

"Dumbledore isn't an idol to everyone," Susan said darkly. "He made some decisions that upset a lot of people."

"That's putting it mildly," muttered Harry.

Neville nodded. "My gran doesn't think very much of him," he said. "She says he was a great man, once, but he isn't so great now."

Hermione looked shocked, and a little put out. "Well - I'll ask around about it. I still want to be a Gryffindor, though; I don't think one person's bad decisions should tarnish an entire house, because that would be completely unfair."

"Um... right," said Hannah. "If we see your toad, Neville, we'll come find you, okay?"

"Thanks," said Neville, who seemed to have gotten control of himself. "Well - Hermione, we should go -"

"Oh, of course," said Hermione, stepping back to close the door. "See you at Hogwarts!"

The door shut, and the pair walked away, presumably to ask the next compartment down if they had seen Neville's toad.

"A toad," snorted Smith. "And did you hear that girl? She's going to be a nightmare, I can tell. And _stop hitting me with that book, _Corner!" he added, dodging another blow.

"Stop being a git, and I won't have to," retorted Michael.

"That _was_ mean, Zacharias," said Hannah, frowning. "I think she seemed all right. Maybe a little forward, but she seemed nice enough. She was helping Neville look for his toad, remember?"

"Yes, she was helping Longbottom," said Smith, shaking his head. "_What_ the purebloods have come to is disgraceful. He's a pureblood heir, and he has a _toad_, and he was _crying_, for Merlin's sake!"

"He was just upset that his pet was missing," said Hannah. "You really should try to be nicer."

Smith seemed to be about to make some snide remark again, but visibly controlled himself and forced his face into a smile. "You're right, Hannah," he said. "I promise I will try, but I can't help but feel strongly about things like this. It's part of who I am."

"Yes, a prat," said Michael. Smith glared.

"Oh, will you two give it a rest?" asked Susan, sounding frustrated. "You've been at each other's throats since this trip began."

Michael and Smith looked at her, then back at each other. Michael went back to his book, and Smith stared out the window. Susan seemed satisfied.

Things were quiet again for a while, until Michael looked up from his book and decided they should change into their robes. Susan and Hannah waited outside the compartment while Michael, Smith, and Harry changed, and then, in turn, waited outside for Susan and Hannah to change. They had to press themselves against the wall to avoid people racing up and down the corridor.

"I love wearing robes," said Hannah, smiling, when they were all inside the compartment again. "They make me feel so... I don't know, _graceful_, I suppose. It's nice."

"Good for you," muttered Michael. "I feel like I'm wearing a dress."

Harry, Susan, and Hannah laughed. Smith looked down his nose at Michael, and Harry briefly wondered why he hadn't changed compartments. Maybe he couldn't be bothered moving his trunk; that, and simple politeness, were the only reasons Harry hadn't left to get away from him.

The train seemed to be slowing down, and a voice echoed through it "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach gave a funny jolt. They were almost at Hogwarts. If it hadn't seemed real before, it was real now. Hannah had her nose pressed against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the school, but she slumped back to her seat after a minute or so, declaring, "It's no use, it's as black as pitch out there."

Michael stood up on the seat - difficult with the moving train, even if it was slowing - and opened, his trunk, placing his book inside it. Susan was twisting the hem of her robes in her hand, obviously nervous. Smith looked as smug and confident as ever.

The train shuddered to a halt, and the voice drifted through it again. "Please disembark in a calm and orderly manner."

They joined the mass of students squeezing through the corridor and out the doors onto the platform, which was tiny, dingy, and dark. Most of the students seemed to be heading off towards some carriages, which were pulling themselves, and Harry was about to follow when he saw a lantern bobbing over and a voice calling out "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

With a glance at each other, they made their way over with the other first years. Harry was taken aback by the sight of the man in front of them. At least twice as high and three times as wide as a normal person, with a wild beard and beady black eyes, he almost took a step back and followed the other students to the carriages. But then his face crinkled into a smile, and Harry felt himself relaxing again. This must be Hagrid.

He beamed at them all, and said, "C'mon, follow me -any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

The path was dark and they stumbled down it blindly, the way lit only by Hagrid's lantern. Because of this, the first years seemed to press closer to Hagrid then they normally would have done, given the intimidating first impression they'd had. They were mostly silent, though Harry thought he heard Neville Longbottom sniff occasionally - perhaps he and Hermione hadn't found his toad.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec. Jus' round this bend here," called Hagrid.

The first years let out gasps of wonder as the path opened out onto the edge of an enormous black lake. On the other side of the lake, there was a small mountain, with a castle perched on the top. It was enormous, with towers, windows and turrets covering it, and Harry smiled at the sight of it. Sirius' descriptions couldn't do its beauty justice.

A fleet of boats was waiting on the edge of the shore. Susan, Hannah, and Smith got into a boat with another boy Harry didn't know, and Michael went off with three other boys who he'd met on the platform. Harry went with Neville, Hermione, and a red-haired boy who introduced himself as Ron Weasley.

"Everyone in? Right then - FORWARD!" shouted Hagrid.

And the boats set off towards the castle, gliding across the lake as though pushed by some wind they could not feel, and Harry found himself anticipating what was to come with a great excitement he did not think was quite natural to feel. His heart was pounding in his chest.

_Hogwarts_, he thought, and the inane smile was on his face again. _I'm going to Hogwarts._


	7. Conversations by Mouth and Mind

Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

A lot of talking in this chapter, and not much else. Ah well. We do have plot development, so at least there's that.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Conversations by Mouth and Mind**

"... suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Professor McGonagall finished her speech, her eyes flicking over the students, and, Harry thought, settling on those who looked like they needed smartening up. She was a formidable-looking professor, and she didn't look like the sort of person to put up with any misbehaviour or rule-breaking.

Harry had been unable to find any of the people he had shared a compartment with on the train after they'd disembarked the boats, as he'd been swept up by the crowd of forty or so students. Instead, he'd found himself walking with Ron Weasley, not that he or anyone else was saying much. Everyone seemed exceedingly nervous.

Hermione was muttering something about spells under her breath, and Neville let out little whimpers occasionally, but Harry managed to tune both of them out and leaned against the wall of the antechamber, waiting for Professor McGonagall to return. They seemed to be doing their best to make everyone else tenser than they were, though he knew they were trying to relieve their own nervousness. Harry was just about ready to snap at one or both of them to shut up, though, because his own stomach was doing what felt like back flips.

"Do you know anything about how the Sorting works?" Ron said out of the corner of his mouth. Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. It wasn't the Sorting he was afraid of - Sirius had refused to tell him how it worked, but reassured him that it wasn't dangerous and that they didn't have to know any magic - but meeting the whole school. He had no idea how many people attended Hogwarts, but he knew the feeling of hundreds of eyes on him while he was being Sorted was going to make him uncomfortable.

After from a small incident with the ghosts, which had drew screams from some of the startled first-years, Professor McGonagall returned and they formed a line trudging into the Great Hall. Harry found himself near the front of the line, behind a thickset girl with a mean face and in front of Ron. They walked through the double doors and up the aisle between two of the four house tables, beneath a magnificent ceiling that mimicked the dark sky outside perfectly.

Partly to avoid the stares of the older students, Harry turned his gaze to the long table up the front where the teachers sat, and tried to recognise the teachers from Sirius' description.

He didn't recognise the first three teachers on the far left, but the next one was easy to identify. _Professor Kettleburn, Care of Magical Creatures professor,_ thought Harry, taking in the man's missing left arm. From what Sirius had told him, he was missing a leg as well. Hagrid was next, and then a professor Harry recognised as Professor Sprout, the Herbology professor, who'd only taught Sirius for his seventh year. _Professor Flitwick_, he thought, his gaze flicking to the next, diminutive professor. _The Charms professor._

_Dumbledore,_ Harry thought, his fists clenching. It would be impossible _not _to recognise him. He made sure not to meet Dumbledore's eyes, remembering Sirius' warning about the headmaster's legilimency abilities. Next an empty seat, presumably Professor McGonagall's, and then -

_Snape_. He was easy enough to recognise. How many of Sirius' stories had involved him in some way? He tore his gaze of the sallow skinned professor - again careful not to meet his eyes - and turned it on the next professor, who, for some reason, was wearing a turban. The professor glanced over at the first years, and his eyes and Harry's met.

And Harry's scar flared with pain, in a sharp, searing burst.

He managed not to cry out or clap his hand to his scar, and the pain left and quickly as it came. Harry couldn't help shuddering slightly as it passed, and hoped people would put it down to nerves. His scar hadn't ever done that before, nor anything like it.

He made a mental note to be very careful around the turban-wearing professor. It couldn't be a coincidence that his scar had acted up just as their eyes had met. Hopefully, the professor hadn't noticed anything.

He realised they had stopped walking, and were waiting while Professor McGonagall fetched a hat, roll of parchment, and stool. Every eye in the hall was on the hat now - even the professors', so Harry imitated them.

He was as shocked as the other first years when the hat began to sing. _But then again, this is Hogwarts,_ thought Harry. _If they can't have a singing Sorting Hat here, where can they have one?_ As the song finished, the hat bowed to each of the four house tables and went still.

So all they had to do was try on a hat. He grinned slightly, casting an amused look around at the relieved expressions of the other first-years. He didn't know what he'd been expecting - not something this easy, though.

Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment and read out the first name. "Abbott, Hannah!"

From somewhere, Hannah pulled herself out of the throng of first-years and she sat down on the stool, her eyes darting around wildly as though trying to take in every aspect of the hall at once. She caught sight of Harry, and he gave her a reassuring smile as the hat slipped over her eyes.

A few seconds later, the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry clapped with the Hufflepuffs as Hannah hastened off the stool and slipped into a seat at the Hufflepuff table, pink with embarrassment but a smile on her face.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" declared the hat, and Susan ran off to sit next to Hannah. Harry smiled. They'd both gotten the house they'd expected, and it would be easy for them to remain friends.

_I'll try to stay friends with them, even if I'm in another house,_ Harry decided, though he wasn't entirely sure they were friends in the first place. At the very least, he liked them, and they were nice enough. Even if Hannah did have a ridiculous crush.

He watched as "Boot, Terry!", "Brocklehurst, Mandy!", "Brown, Lavender!" and "Bulstrode, Millicent!", the girl in front of him in the line, were Sorted. Harry felt a knot of tension twist in his stomach, and half-wished Sirius had chosen a fake last name for him that began with 'b' so he could get this over with. He wasn't looking forward to the stares. It didn't feel so easy now.

"Corner, Michael!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

_That was expected,_ thought Harry, clapping again. Michael sat down next to Terry Boot, one of the boys he'd shared a boat with. Harry glanced at Ron, whose face was slowly going a strange greenish colour, at Neville, who seemed to be trying not to faint, and at Hermione, who was muttering something like a mantra very fast under breath, though her face was alight with excitement rather than anxiety.

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione ran up to the stool, ignoring the slight sniggers as she did so, and jammed the hat onto her head, her smile broadening as it deliberated.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it decided, and Hermione, looking relieved and pleased, went to sit at the Gryffindor table. Ron groaned, and Harry elbowed him.

"What's your problem with her?" Harry muttered.

"She's a nightmare!" Ron whispered back, glaring in her direction. "She barged into our compartment and went off on a tangent about all the spells she knew, _and_ she said I had dirt on my nose!"

"You do," Harry replied quietly, a small smile on his face. "She can be a bit forward, but I think she's all right."

Ron huffed, but didn't reply. Harry hoped he hadn't alienated a potential friend.

"Jones, Megan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Lewis, Daniel!"

Harry froze, then somehow, managed to put one foot in front of the other and ended up sitting on the three-legged stool. He could feel all the eyes watching him, and he fought not to flinch as Professor McGonagall slipped the hat over his eyes, obscuring the Great Hall from view.

"_Hmm..._" he heard a voice in his head say. "_Well, you're an interesting one, aren't you... _Harry Potter."

Panic suddenly swept through him and he came close to jumping up, casting the hat off his head and racing out of the hall, in obedience of instincts honed by his years on the run. _No! No one can know! _he screamed in his mind.

"_Calm yourself, Mr Potter, this is completely private,_" said the voice, but Harry's heart was still thumping wildly. The Sorting Hat ignored this, and Harry felt it sifting through memories and thought processes, seeming to be searching for something specific.

"_Oh, yes, you're _very_ interesting, Mr Potter. You are brave, certainly, but there's cunning there, too, and talent, oh, yes..._"

_Gryffindor,_ thought Harry. _Put me in Gryffindor, like my parents and my godfather. Please._

"_Gryffindor?_" said the hat in his mind, in an annoying, knowing tone. "_Are you sure? You'd do very well somewhere else as well... Slytherin, for instance, would help you on your way to greatness..._"

_No!_ thought Harry, panicking again. What would Sirius say if he was sorted into Slytherin? Besides, Slytherins were always watched more carefully than the other students were, trusted less, because they were better at slipping away. Harry couldn't afford to be watched. _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin!_

"_Not Slytherin, eh? You would do very well in Salazar's noble house. You've lived in subterfuge and relied on your wits your entire life, Mr Potter. You are fooling the entire school right now. Slytherin would suit you very well._"

_No! Anything but Slytherin!_

"_No? Are you sure? You could be turning down a chance for greatness, Mr Potter. Slytherin would help you there. Do you know what you could become in the house of serpents?_ _No... You are sure. Very well. Better be _GRYFFINDOR!"

Feeling a sense of relief so strong Harry was surprised he wasn't borne off his feet, he pulled the hat from his head and went to sit at the Gryffindor table, smiling as they cheered for him. He slipped into a seat next to a boy he vaguely recalled from the Sorting as Seamus Finnegan, and turned his attention back to the Sorting Hat, which had just declared Neville a Gryffindor, too. He cheered with the rest as Neville, looking bewildered, took his seat.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

A pretentious-looking boy smirked at the hall, and the hat had barely touched his head before it declared him Slytherin. The number of people waiting to be sorted was dwindling now, as each first year was sent to one of the four houses.

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Patil, Parvati!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry was briefly surprised that twins were separated, but Parvati was positively beaming as she slid into place beside Lavender Brown. Harry supposed that maybe she felt she might now be thought of separately from her twin.

"Smith, Zacharias!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Thomas, Dean!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Dean Thomas took his place next to Seamus and a red-haired fifth year wearing a prefect badge as "Turpin, Lisa!" became a Ravenclaw. There were only two people left now. Harry pitied them, glad that, at least, he did not have to watch everyone else be sorted before him.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Looking immensely relieved, Ron came to the Gryffindor table amid the cheers. The prefect congratulated him, and Harry glanced at the hair and freckles before concluding that they were brothers. The last person, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin (a pair of red-headed twins hissed) and Professor McGonagall rolled up the scrolls of parchment and took the stool and hat out from the Great Hall.

Now that the Sorting was over and his nervousness had, for the most part, faded away, Harry was able to contemplate the matter of his scar hurting. _Why_ had it done that, when he looked at the professor wearing a turban? Why had it hurt at all? Had he imagined it? No, he decided, he hadn't imagined it. But maybe it was coincidence that it had hurt just as he'd met the professor's eyes. Or maybe it wasn't, and it was a warning of some kind.

_For who?_ he thought. _Warning me about the professor, or warning me that the professor is in danger? Or neither?_

He didn't know enough to figure it out, he realised with frustration. He was vaguely aware that the food had appeared, but he wasn't paying attention, too intent on figuring out the mystery behind his scar. _My scar marks me as a horcrux. That's all. Why would it hurt now?_

Ron elbowed him in the side. "Hey - are you going to get something to eat?"

Harry blinked. Ron had filled his plate, with potatoes and gravy, lamb chops, peas, carrots, roast chicken, beef, and Yorkshire pudding, and now that he thought about it, he _was_ hungry. He gave Ron a grateful smile. "Thanks," he said, picking up his knife and fork.

"You're welcome," Ron replied, through a mouthful of potato. He swallowed, then added, "You were on the same boat as me. What was your name again?"

"Danny Lewis," Harry replied. "You're Ron, right?"

"Yes," Ron replied. "The prefect on your right is my brother, Percy, and those twins are my other brothers, Fred and George."

"You have three brothers?" asked Harry, hardly able to imagine _one_ sibling.

"Five," said Ron, "and a little sister, too." He didn't sound nearly as enthusiastic now, but he was still smiling, though Harry wondered if it was forced. "Watch out for Fred and George. They're pranksters. They won't care that you're only a first year, either."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry replied. "I don't have any siblings. Not sure if I'd want any." He didn't know if he would be prepared to share his godfather if he did have a brother or sister.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Look, I'm sorry that I said those things about Hermione. I didn't know she was your friend."

"She's not," said Harry, glancing down the table at her. She was talking to Percy, the prefect, about lessons. "I just met her on the train, that's all."

"Oh," said Ron, sounding relieved. He paused. "She _was_ rather rude to us, you know."

"Us?" asked Harry.

Ron gestured to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. "I sat with them. They're all right, so I don't reckon I'll mind sharing a dorm with them. Neville seems like a good guy, too." Another pause. "Maybe a little clumsy and forgetful, though. Remind me not to lend him anything."

Harry let out a laugh at that. "Don't worry, I will," he said. He glanced at Percy, then had an idea. "Hang on a second, Ron," he said, and leaned over to talk to the Gryffindor prefect. "Percy, who's that teacher next to Professor Snape?" he asked.

Percy broke out of his conversation with Hermione - who threw Harry a disgruntled look - and looked over at him. "Professor McGonagall?"

"The other one, Percy," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "I _know_ who Professor McGonagall is."

"Him? That's Professor Quirrell. He used to teach muggle studies, but this year he's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. He went on leave for a few years when he went to get some hands-on experience." Percy hesitated, as if wondering whether it would be polite to say what else he was thinking. "He - had some trouble, from what we've heard, and he's frightfully nervous now. Even got a stutter."

"Does anyone know what sort of trouble it was?" asked Harry, and he noticed Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Lavender Brown looked interested as well. Percy shifted uncomfortably.

"No," he said. "There are rumours, of course, but -" he waved a hand "- that's all they are, rumours."

There was a brief moment of quiet, at least in their little group, before Parvati Patil (who had been engaged in conversation with the Gryffindor ghost) said "But you can't be _nearly _headless!"

The ghost, who was for some reason wearing a ruff and tights, looked miffed. He seized his left ear and yanked it, and his head swung off onto his shoulder, revealing the inside of his neck, attached to the head with the barest sliver of skin. Parvati shuddered, looking revolted and very sorry she had asked.

"I assure you, Miss Patil, I _am_ nearly headless," the ghost pronounced. He grinned slightly at the disgusted looking first-years. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he said. "Or you'll keep fainting like poor Miss Davidson did, but really, she had a weak stomach." He flipped his head back on with a delighted look on his face.

"Good to know," said Parvati, pushing her plate away. "You know, I'm not hungry anymore."

Soon, the dinner food was replaced by desert. Even Parvati Patil found her stomach again at the sight of all the delicious-looking foods on display. Ice cream, treacle tart, chocolate mousse, ambrosia, trifle... Harry felt his mouth watering, and everyone served themselves enormous portions.

"So, you're becoming friends with our brother, Danny Lewis?"

Harry turned to see Fred and George, the Weasley twins, watching him with amused expressions on. Harry was instantly wary. "Ron? I suppose," he said, not altogether sure Ron counted as a friend yet.

"So would you mind doing a little something for us?" asked one of the twins - George, perhaps, unless it was Fred. There were identical gleams of mischief in their eyes. "How about putting a spider in his bed?"

"Ron mentioned you were pranksters," Harry said, neither accepting not declining their request.

"We learnt from the best," Fred said, unless it was George.

Harry felt his lips quirk upwards. "I very much doubt you learnt from the best," he said, thinking of Sirius and the other Marauders - determinedly pushing Peter from his mind as he did so.

Fred and George grinned. "Oh, we did," said George, who still might have been Fred. "They taught us every single secret passageway, every hidden room in the entire castle."

Something clicked in Harry's mind. "The Marauders?" he asked them.

The twins blinked in shock, then said in unison, "You know about the Marauders?"

"Yes," said Harry, frowning slightly. If his suspicions were correct, this would make things very difficult for him.

"How do you know about them?" asked Fred, or maybe George.

"How do _you_ know about them?" Harry retorted. "Did you find the map?"

They looked as though he'd caught them flat-footed. The twins looked at each other, as though silently communicating, and then turned back to him. "We can't show you now," said Fred (or George).

"Come see us in the common room tomorrow," the other twin added. "We can talk there."

Harry nodded, but he no longer felt like eating. If Fred and George had the Marauder's Map, how long would it take them to notice that the little dot that represented him did not bear the name 'Danny Lewis', but instead, 'Harry Potter'?

* * *

"So," said Harry, settling down on one of the squashy armchairs by the fire. "You have the Marauder's Map?"

It was about six in the morning, and after the feast last night, no one else was awake. Breakfast wasn't for another hour and a half, so he figured they had about an hour or so before anyone else left the dorms.

Fred and George looked at each other before one of them pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Yes," he said. "We're not going to give it to you, though. This is the secret to our success."

"How _do_ you know about it?" asked the other twin, eyebrows raised.

"Not important," said Harry swiftly, feeling his neck prickle. He didn't know how to deal with these twins! They were completely different from the few muggles boys their age he'd talked to. "Did you nick this out of Filch's office or something?"

"In first year," said one of the twins, pride evident in his voice. "In a draw marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous'."

"Of course," said Harry, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. He glanced around the common room, which he was quickly falling in love with. Maybe it was the squashy armchairs, or the fire that was always burning, or just the general sense of homeliness about it, but he loved it. "Can I see it?"

"No," said Fred and George together, instantly.

"Just for five minutes," said Harry. He decided to play his trump card. It was below the belt, and he knew it, but he didn't particularly care. Right now, he needed to make sure they didn't see the name 'Harry Potter' on the map. "I'll tell Filch you've got it, otherwise."

The twins looked horrified. "You wouldn't," one of them said. He sounded as though Harry had just told him he was going to murder their best friend.

"We'd get you back," the other added. Harry shrugged. It would be better if the map was in Filch's hands - he probably had no idea how to use it. If the twins didn't give him the map, he _would_ tell him. He'd feel awful doing it, of course, but he'd do it.

"I'd still do it," Harry replied, surprised at how calm his voice sounded when he said it.

Fred and George hesitated. Then the twin holding the map scowled and passed it to him. "Fine," he snapped. "But five minutes _only._"

"I'm timing," said the other.

Harry didn't answer, turning his body slightly so they couldn't see what he was doing. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said, holding his wand to the parchment. The map blossomed to life. He heard one of the twins mutter something about having hoped he didn't know how to use it.

Harry ignored him, searching the map for Gryffindor Tower and finding his dot. Sure enough, the words 'Harry Potter' were next to it. He placed his wand over them. "Cloak me," he whispered. "Hide me until I'm called for." He was praying it would work. As the Marauders' heir, maybe the map would recognise him.

The words 'Harry Potter' shimmered, and then faded. His dot was still there, but the name was gone, and he sighed in relief. It had worked. His name wouldn't appear unless someone specifically asked for it, and hopefully, Fred and George wouldn't.

He cast his gaze across the map, taking in the whereabouts of the students and teacher. Dumbledore was in his quarters, as was Professor McGonagall, but Snape was awake and in his Potions laboratory. Professor Binns was drifting around the castle, and Professor Quirrell -

Harry frowned. _That's weird_, he thought, running his finger under the professor's name. Professor Quirrell was awake and in his classroom - preparing for class, maybe? - but he wasn't alone. Next to him, so close it was almost overlapping, was another dot.

This one was labelled, 'Tom Riddle'.

He glanced up from the map in time to see one of the twins lean down and whisk it away. "Sorry, Lewis, but your five minutes is over." He placed his wand on the map. "Mischief Managed."

Harry glanced at the other twin. "Do you know who Tom Riddle is?" he asked curiously.

The twin - was it Fred? - frowned, thinking. "No... I don't think I've heard of him. Is he as student?"

Harry shrugged. "If he is, I want to know what he's doing in Professor Quirrell's classroom at this time of the morning instead of in his common room."

The twins looked interested. "What?"

"That's what I saw," said Harry. "And the map doesn't lie."

"No, it doesn't," agreed one of the twins - George?

"Maybe it's not a student," said the other musingly. "I mean, we've had this map for three years, and we've never seen any Tom Riddle on it before. And there wasn't anyone called Riddle being sorted."

"If it's not a student, then who is it?" asked Harry.

"No idea," said Fred (or George, because Harry still wasn't sure).

"Could it be a pet?" asked George, unless it was Fred. "I didn't think Professor Quirrell had a pet, though."

"Maybe he got it over the summer?" suggested Harry.

They discussed possibilities for a while, and the twins seemed to warm up to Harry a little (though they assured him they were miffed about the blackmail), but none of them came up with any sounder theories. Fred and George went back up to their dormitory, and Harry went up to his to put on his robes.

_It doesn't matter_, Harry decided, slipping them over his head. _I doubt Tom Riddle is very important, and anyway, I can just _ask_ Professor Quirrell when we have Defence Against the Dark Arts._

There was, of course, the fact that this was the second queer thing that had happened concerning Quirrell in two days, bat Harry decided not to dwell on that.

_This is my first day of Hogwarts. I'm going to enjoy it._


	8. Break: Those First Few Days

Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter! Your reviews inspire me to write faster.

This is not a chapter. This is a break, which consists of twenty-three different letters, covering the first week or so at Hogwarts. I didn't want to write an actual chapter on this as I would simply be repeating canon way too much. Oh, and more plot development here, so hooray for that.

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**Break: Those First Few Days**

_Dear Danny,_

_How are you finding Hogwarts? Which house are you in? I'm missing you already, and you've only been gone for a day. I don't know what I'm going to do until you come home, honestly. Maybe I'll go into the muggle world for a while._

_Which classes are your favourite? Your father liked transfiguration, but your mother preferred charms. You wouldn't have had flying lessons yet, but don't worry, you'll be a natural. Have you made any friends? I hope you do, and not just for the reason you think. I want you to be happy._

_Remember what I said about those artefacts. And keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself. And if anything strange happens, tell me. I want to know._

_Your loving uncle,_

_Simon._

_._

_Dear Uncle Simon,_

_I love it here! It's a little difficult to settle down after all the travelling we've done, but I think I'm doing all right. I'm in Gryffindor, so you can stop worrying about that!_

_Transfiguration is fun, but difficult. I sit next to Ron Weasley - you know the Weasleys, right? With the red hair? - and I think we're becoming friends. At least, we talk to each other out of class, and he's fun to be around, even if he can be a little tactless sometimes. He's a bit like you, actually, only he's __never__ serious. _

_Charms is fun, too, not least because Flitwick's the professor. He teaches us the charms but tells us stories to warn us about what can go wrong, like with Wizard Baruffio and the buffalo. We're not up to the levitation charm yet, but everyone wants to learn it after he sent Neville's toad flying across the classroom (yes, I know, a toad. His uncle gave it to him after they found out he was going to Hogwarts, so it's not his fault)._

_Speaking of Neville, he's been a real help in Herbology. You know plants don't like me, so obviously I'm completely abysmal at the subject. He's been helping me, though. It's weird; in most other subjects he does everything wrong, but at Herbology he's amazing. Herbology's also fun because it's the subject we have with the Hufflepuffs. I think I'm making friends with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, as well. _

_History is boring, of course. Astronomy is also fairly awful, as we have to be up at midnight on Wednesdays to watch the stars. Defence is a joke. Professor Quirrell will not stop __stammering __and it's driving all of us insane. I honestly don't know why Dumbledore hired him._

_Potions is a nightmare, and we've only had one lesson. Snape is the most biased teacher I've ever seen. At least he doesn't pick on me in particular (just all the Gryffindors). It's Neville who really cops it in Potions. He melted his cauldron today when we were making a potion to cure boils. I sit next to Ron in Potions, too._

_I can't wait for flying lessons, but Fred and George (Ron's twin brothers) say the school brooms are awful. They'd know; they're on the Quidditch team, though I suppose they have their own brooms. _

_I'll admit to making a couple of enemies. That boy I met at Diagon Alley, Zacharias Smith, is a prat, but except for Herbology he avoids me and I avoid him. It's mutually beneficial. There's this other boy, though, Draco Malfoy. He doesn't hate me so much as Ron, but he's always trying to wind us up. He's also quite obviously a pureblood bigot. I will try not to hit either of them._

_I located one of the artefacts you told me about, by the way. I'm not in possession of it as of yet, though. Ron's brother's, Fred and George, have it (they're pranksters, too!) so I'm letting them keep it. Besides, I don't want to provoke them, for obvious reasons._

_A couple of strange things have happened, but I can't really put them in writing. I'll find some other way to contact you._

_I miss you too, but I'll see you in the holidays, don't worry!_

_Love your nephew,_

_Danny_

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_Your mother's already frantic with worry, of course. I suppose you expected that. Don't worry, she'll get over it soon enough. I hope. She wants to know which house you're in, and she keeps fretting that Fred and George won't look after you properly. I tried to tell her you don't need looking after, but she wouldn't listen._

_So how are you doing? Are you having fun? Your sister misses you, by the way. She wouldn't stop crying after we got home from the station. Have you made any friends yet?_

_Also, if you have made any muggle-born friends, would you mind asking them what a 'tellybishin' is? I heard the word, and it sounds fascinating._

_Love,_

_Dad_

_._

_To Dad,_

_Sorry I took so long to reply; Fred and George stole my ink. I had to borrow Danny's in class. He's one of my friends. He's a bit withdrawn, like he's afraid he'll mess up or something if he lets anyone close. Still, I like him. _

_I asked about the tellybishin, but no one seemed to know what I was talking about for ages. This annoying girl in our year, Hermione Granger, eventually told me it was a box that muggles use to see moving pictures. Sounds a bit like a pensieve to me. She also told me I was pronouncing it wrong._

_It's great here, but I keep getting lost. Peeves doesn't help, either. There's also Lucius Malfoy's son, Draco, who keeps having a go at me. I feel a little bad pulling Danny into our fights, but he's my friend and I think he hates Malfoy as much as I do._

_Ginny's probably just upset because she'll be lonely until she can come next year. She'll get over it pretty quick; I mean, she's still got Luna, right? Even if she is a little weird. Okay, a lot weird. And Mum's got Ginny to fuss over, so she won't be worrying for too long. Tell her I'm in Gryffindor, like the rest of the family._

_From Ron_

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Sorry if getting the post this way startles you, but you can't send a letter from Hogwarts any other way! It'd be really useful if I got my own owl, but the school ones work perfectly well. _

_Hogwarts is amazing! There's so much history about it, and no one seems to know every one of its secrets. Lessons are brilliant, too. I love transfiguration (turning one thing into another) and I'm at the top of the class in it. The other day Professor McGonagall, who's also our head of house, gave me a smile. I do hope that's a good sign._

_I'm learning so much. I asked Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost (yes, I know, a real ghost!) where the library was on the first day and he showed me right away. It's so huge! Madam Pince, the librarian, really cares for the books, too, so some of them are more than a thousand years old but you can still read them if you're careful. Magic is amazing like that._

_Gryffindor's my house. There are four, and you get placed in your house based on your character. Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are loyal and hardworking, Ravenclaws are clever and Slytherins are cunning and ambitious. The hat considered putting me in Ravenclaw, which was very flattering. I'm studying hard, so I can stay at the top of the class._

_I haven't made any friends, unfortunately. Some people, like Neville Longbottom and Danny Lewis, are nice enough, but they don't seem to want to be friends. I'm sure Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil are gossiping behind my back, though, and Ronald Weasley keeps muttering rude things under his breath. Don't worry, though. I'm fine. Hogwarts itself is enough to keep me occupied!_

_I love you both, and I'll come home for the Christmas holidays. See you then!_

_Love,_

_Hermione._

* * *

_Dear Mum,_

_No, we haven't blown up a toilet. Yes, we are looking after Ron. Love you._

_Fred and George_

* * *

_Dear Irma,_

_So far, two students for hexes in the corridor, three for flying accidents, three for Potions accidents, and one for eating something funny from Professor Sprout's greenhouses. How many books so far?_

_Yours,_

_Poppy_

_._

_Dear Poppy,_

_Three scribbled on, one page ripped, two returned (overdue) from __last__ year and one dropped in a toilet. This may be a long year._

_Yours,_

_Irma_

* * *

_Albus,_

_I have already told you. No, I have not noticed any strange behaviour among my students. Please, stop pestering me. You know my feelings on this matter._

_Minerva_

* * *

_Dear father,_

_Things have been going relatively smoothly here at Hogwarts. I was sorted into Slytherin, of course (did you ever doubt it?). Professor Snape is, of course, the best teacher in the school. He doesn't favour the other houses as the other teachers do, and if he favours us to make up for it, there is nothing wrong with that._

_How is mother? I understand she may have been distressed by my departure; please reassure her I am fine._

_How is your rat project going on? Is there any progress? I understand you cannot put much in writing. Still, you'd have thought after eight years he might have found __something__._

_Unfortunately, there is a Weasley boy in my year, and as such I have to put up with him during Potions. I do not lose an opportunity to put him in his place, however, which you will be pleased to hear. He is relatively easy to antagonize, and watching him redden with anger is so __satisfying__._

_I have no idea why Dumbledore hired Professor Quirrell to be our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He can barely speak properly, let alone teach a class. I do wish you would have sent me to Durmstrang, though of course mother wanted me here._

_Your son,_

_Draco_

_._

_Dear Draco,_

_I am pleased, of course, to hear you have been placed in Salazar Slytherin's noble house. Your mother and I are proud. The portraits have been talking of little else, though how they have not exhausted the subject yet I cannot be sure._

_Your mother is well; she recovered from her distress quickly. She misses you, however, so you must be sure to come home for Christmas._

_The rat project is proceeding well. Do not ask me in writing about it again._

_That is unfortunate about the Weasley boy. They are all like their father. However, you seem to be handling him well, the only other way to handle him being to avoid him altogether. Be sure to be Slytherin about how you go about antagonizing him, my son. Do not merely throw about insults like some Gryffindor._

_As I told you on the platform, make sure you behave every inch the Malfoy heir. Do not let me down, Draco._

_Yours,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

* * *

_Dear Nicholas and Perenelle,_

_My dear friends, you may put your worries at rest. The stone is safe at Hogwarts, guarded by powerful enchantments, among other things. I shall not detail them for fear this letter is intercepted (these are troubling times, and one cannot be certain)._

_I remain,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_._

_Dear Albus,_

_We cannot thank you enough. You understand, of course why it is imperative the stone remains safe. Old friend, you have our eternal gratitude. We know you may be putting the school in danger by doing this for us._

_I remain,_

_Nicholas Flamel_

* * *

_Dear Gran,_

_I think I may have forgotten to pack my telescope. Astronomy was embarrassing, as I had to share with Dean Thomas. Could you send it to me?_

_Your grandson,_

_Neville_

_._

_Dear Neville,_

_Attached is your telescope, and your transfiguration textbook, which you also forgot. Try not to be so forgetful next time. You are falling short of my expectations._

_Also attached is a Remembrall. Hopefully, this will be of some assistance._

_Yours,_

_Augusta Longbottom_

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_I can't come to visit you, because Mum says you are ill and I might catch something. I'm so lonely! So she suggested I send you letters. Are you looking forward to going to Hogwarts next year? The house is so quiet without any of my brothers here._

_I hope you get better soon, so I can come visit you again. Isn't it lucky you live just over the hill?_

_From your friend,_

_Ginny_

_._

_Dear Ginny_

_I do believe I am merely suffering from a wrackspurt infestation, as my head has been feeling fuzzy since yesterday morning. Therefore, it should clear up by tomorrow. Daddy is clearing out the wrackspurts. It is interesting to watch, but people stare when they come past. I think it is rude when they do that, but Daddy, of course, does not mind._

_I am looking forward to Hogwarts, as it would be very difficult to look behind for it. After all, I have never been there, so looking behind might even prove impossible (Daddy blames the nargles, but I am not sure). Sideways would be even more difficult._

_Are we friends? I have never had a friend before. I would like to be friends._

_Watch out for the wrackspurts, as when they flee our home, they may infest yours._

_Luna_

* * *

_Croaker,_

_Is there any luck yet?_

_Bode_

_._

_Bode,_

_We may have uncovered a lead, but it is yet to be investigated. Shall we make this our priority?_

_Croaker_

_._

_Croaker,_

_Yes. This is an opportunity we may never have again. We must not waste it. _

_Bode_

* * *

_Yaxley,_

_The stone is at Hogwarts. Multiple sources have confirmed it is being kept in the third floor corridor. Gaining access to Hogwarts may prove difficult, however, and sources confirm security has been increased around the castle and the stone. You may need to gather more of our old comrades._

_Yours in fellowship,_

_Nott_

_P.S. Burn this_

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_I believe I may have found a lead._

_The Rat_

_._

_Rat,_

_I have told you to be careful what you put in writing. Your letter may have been intercepted. Whatever lead you have, follow it._

_Lucius Malfoy._


	9. Head Down

Thank you for the reviews on thebreak yesterday!

I would really appreciate feedback on this one: I'm not sure how it went, and I didn't particularly like it. But what do you guys think?

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Head Down**

Harry had not asked to look at the Marauder's Map since his first morning, and Fred and George kept shooting him curious looks and conversing in low voices. He wished he could have done it more discreetly, but he'd been practically panicking when he realised they had the map. A few people seemed to be wondering why the Weasley twins seemed interested in him, and he hated attracting attention - of any sort, really.

He had yet to ask Professor Quirrell about Tom Riddle. It was sitting there, in the back of his mind, but he couldn't see why it would be important. Besides, he kept meaning to, but Defence Against the Dark Arts almost put him to sleep like History of Magic did. He'd probably ask eventually, but with no more pains from his scar, he was starting to think he _had_ imagined it, and that there was actually nothing strange about Professor Quirrell.

Ron seemed to think of him as a friend now. He sat next to Harry in every class he could, waited for him to wake up before going down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and walking with him in the hallways. Harry, for his part, had started to do the same. Ron and Harry seemed to be complete opposites, at least personality-wise. Ron was funny, always seemed to be making jokes, and he could be somewhat tactless. He was loud and boisterous, and he seemed to put people at ease. Harry, on the other hand, was quieter, more withdrawn, and generally avoided talking to people unless they initiated the conversation. He preferred to be on the edge rather than in the thick of things, and unlike Ron, couldn't seem to find the funny side of everything.

Their friendship was a little strange, but Harry found himself becoming comfortable talking to Ron and being around him all the time. The only downside of being friends with Ron was that Ron had very quickly made an enemy of Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin boy in their year who was even worse than Smith was. Malfoy always had some insult on his lips, which he flung with ease whenever they passed him in the corridor, or whispered out of the corner of his mouth during Potions.

"I'll get him one day," Ron told Harry at breakfast, through a mouthful of kippers. Harry nodded, taking sip of pumpkin juice, but didn't answer. It was often best, he'd found, to try not to get in between Ron and Malfoy when they were fighting.

The post hadn't yet arrived, and everyone seemed to be waiting for it, even those who weren't expecting any letters. The only person who wasn't was Hermione, who seemed to be trying to give the Gryffindor first years a lecture on whatever subject they had that day that only Neville was listening to. The rest of the school didn't have long to wait, though; after a couple of minutes, over a hundred owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping packages and letters to their recipients and causing Hermione to stop in mid-speech.

A particularly large package was dropped onto Neville's lap. Harry's estimation of the boy was that he was friendly, forgetful, clumsy, and yet a brilliant Herbologist. It was no surprise to him when Neville declared the package contained a few items he'd left at home.

"And - whoa, look at this!" Neville said excitedly, pulling out a small orb filled with white smoke. "A Remembrall! You know how I always forget things, so Gran got me this! When you squeeze it, and the smoke turns red..." he trailed off, looking worried.

"You've forgotten something," supplied Seamus, as the smoke had turned a very bright scarlet. "What did you forget this time?"

"I don't know -" began Neville fretfully, before they heard a sneering voice behind him.

"A pass to the hospital wing, Longbottom. Didn't you hear? We've got flying lessons today - together, Gryffindors and Slytherins."

It was Draco Malfoy. Neville went pink, and Malfoy snatched the Remembrall out of his hand, tossing it up and catching it before passing it to his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. They seemed to be Malfoy's bodyguards, strong but of little brain. If one of them squeezed the Remembrall, they'd probably break it, on purpose or not.

"Give that here," snapped Ron, standing up. He glanced at Harry as if expecting him to back him up, but Harry couldn't. Not in the middle of the Great Hall. Everyone was staring, and he couldn't attract attention. He had to keep his head down, that was what Sirius had told him.

But it was _hard._

Ron looked slightly betrayed, but he turned to face Malfoy again. "I said, give it _here,_" he insisted, holding out his hand and glaring at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked, but at that moment, Professor McGonagall swept over wearing one of her more severe expressions. "What is going on here?" she demanded. "Mr Malfoy, what are you and your friends doing over at the Gryffindor table? I was not under the impression you had friends in this house."

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, professor," said Neville quickly. "Well - Goyle's got it now," he added, glancing at the larger boy.

"Hand it over, Mr Goyle," said Professor McGonagall sternly.

"We were just looking, weren't we boys?" said Malfoy, smirk still intact. He took the Remembrall from Goyle and dropped in onto Neville's lap. "See you later, Longbottom - and you, Weasley."

He slouched off. Professor McGonagall returned to the staff table, and Ron sat down, fists clenched and a scowl on his face, not talking to Harry. Neville seemed petrified. He was white and shaking slightly, and his eyes were wide.

"He's going to do something during flying, I know it!" he whispered, putting the Remembrall into his pocket.

"He won't," Seamus promised. "We'll make sure he doesn't. I'm not afraid to give him a good punch. He needs it."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Don't worry, Neville, all right?"

"We're here for you," Harry put in. "Gryffindors stick together."

Neville's lip trembled. "Thank you," he said, looking grateful and terrified at the same time. "You'll get into trouble, though." He looked at them worriedly, but Ron shrugged.

"We don't care, Neville," he said. "Someone has to bring that prat down a peg or two." He looked positively delighted by the prospect, his scowl from minutes ago completely gone. That was another thing about Ron that was hard to get used to; his moods, while not constantly shifting, could change very quickly.

"So," said Dean, changing the subject. "Flying lesson this afternoon. Should be fun."

"Flying is great!" said Ron, with great enthusiasm. "Did I tell you I once nearly hit a hang-glider on my brother Charlie's old broom? I must've been, I don't know, eight or something, and I wanted to fly as high as I could -"

"You hit a hang-glider?" Hermione interrupted, looking disapproving. "You must have been flying very high. What if a muggle had spotted you? What about the International Statute of Secrecy? You were really very careless, you could have completely exposed magic to the muggle world -"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Ron, scowling at her. "Sod off, I knew what I was doing."

"I wasn't stupid enough to hit any hang-gliders," said Seamus thoughtfully, "but I flew around loads as a kid. There was this one time, me and my cousin Fergus went flying out all night, and we got a whole bunch of people together and had a game of Quidditch in the middle of this muggle field."

"Quidditch?" asked Dean, sounding puzzled.

Seamus and Ron looked aghast. "You don't know what Quidditch is?"

"I'm muggle-born, remember?" Dean said, exasperatedly. "I grew up playing football, not Quidditch."

"Football?" said Ron, sounding as confused as Dean.

Ron and Dean tried to correct the gaps in each other's knowledge in the short space of time they had before class started, but it progressed into an argument when Ron couldn't understand what was exciting about football. Dean valiantly defended the sport, and Harry, Neville, and Seamus ended up having to practically drag them apart so they could get to Charms on time.

"But there's only one ball, and you're not allowed to fly!" Ron vented to Harry, while copying down some Charms notes Professor Flitwick had assigned them. "How can he find it interesting?"

"Because muggles don't play Quidditch, Ron," said Harry, "and so Dean never played it before coming to Hogwarts."

"I know that! But how is football an _exciting_ game?"

Harry sighed and dipped his quill into his inkpot, choosing not to answer. It was probably safer that way.

"And did you hear Neville?" Ron asked. "His grandmother never let him near a broom! Can you believe that? I can't imagine growing up without being allowed to fly. It'd be a nightmare."

Harry thought that perhaps Neville's grandmother had a good reason. Neville managed to have a spectacular number of accidents with both feet on the ground. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, knew his name already.

Flying wasn't until half-past three, and until then the Gryffindor first years, particularly Ron and Seamus, seemed to be in a fever of excitement about the upcoming lesson which wasn't even dampened by the prospect of having it with the Slytherins. Neville, however, was dreading it, and Hermione was worried too. Harry discovered that the lecture she'd been subjecting them to at breakfast had been about flying tips she'd gotten from _Quidditch through the Ages_, a book from the school library. Just as Madam Pomfrey already knew Neville's name, Madam Pince, the librarian, already knew Hermione's.

Finally, however, three-thirty arrived, and they trooped out to the Quidditch pitch where they found about twenty brooms, lined up and lying flat on the grass like fallen branches. The sun was shining brightly overhead, beating down on them and threatening to burn their necks and faces if they weren't careful. The Slytherins were already there, waiting beside a broom each.

Madam Hooch, the Flying instructor and Quidditch referee, was also waiting for them, in loose black robes that billowed in the soft breeze and a whistle around her neck. Her bright yellow eyes reminded Harry uncomfortably of a bird of prey, and he shivered when they fell on him.

"Pick a broomstick, hurry up," she said briskly. The Gryffindors did so, Neville and Hermione with trepidation and the others with excitement.

Harry's broom didn't look too bad; the handle was shorter than normal and the twigs stuck out at five different angles, but other than that, it seemed fine. He wished the school would get better brooms, though - he'd heard enough older Gryffindors complaining about them, and he knew from Sirius these were the same brooms he'd flown on while he was at school.

"Stick your hand over your broom, and say 'up!'" instructed Madam Hooch.

"UP!" said everyone at once. Harry's broom leapt into his hand, and he looked around to see who else's had. Malfoy's, unfortunately, and Slytherin girl who he didn't recognise. Dean, as well, had caught his broom on the first try, something that seemed surprising to the other Gryffindor.

Hermione and Neville weren't having much luck with their brooms, but Parvati, Lavender, Seamus, and Ron didn't have much trouble, only needing to say 'up!' a few more times for it to work. Harry noticed Crabbe and Goyle simply grabbing their brooms off the ground when they thought Madam Hooch wasn't looking.

"Now, mount your brooms, like this," said Madam Hooch, showing them with her own broomstick, "but _do not_ kick off yet. No, not like that, Mr Longbottom, you'll fall off." She got off her own broom and went down the row, correcting their grips and making sure they had mounted right.

"Very good, Mr Finnigan, very good. No, like _this,_ Mr Longbottom. Miss Patil, move your left hand up a bit... that's it, good. Grip it tighter, Miss Greengrass, or you'll fall off. Mr Malfoy, that's not quite right, you'll hurt your hand."

"I've always done it like this," said Malfoy sullenly.

"You've been doing it wrong for years, then. Miss Bulstrode, you do need to mount your broom. Yes, you do." Madam Hooch finished her inspection and stood back, looking over the twenty first year Gryffindors and Slytherins with a critical eye, before explaining they would kick off on her whistle and then come back down. "On my whistle - three - two - what the devil are you doing, boy, come back here!"

Harry and the others turned to see where she was looking; Neville, apparently afraid of being last or left on the ground, had kicked off early. He was rising in the air quickly, his face chalk white and gripping his broom for dear life. Harry heard Seamus yelling for him to lean forward so he could come back down, and Madam Hooch, too, but he was watching the Neville like the others, and not paying them much attention.

Neville tried - but when he moved his hands further up the broom handle, he slipped - and then he was falling through the air - someone screamed, and Harry thought it might be Lavender - Neville's face was ashen with fear - Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson backed away quickly to stop him falling on them - WHAM.

Neville slammed into the ground, hard. There was a loud crack that made Harry wince, because he'd heard it before. It was the crack of a bone splintering and then giving way, breaking under the impact. Madam Hooch hurried over to him, her face white, and examined him carefully.

"Just a broken wrist," she muttered. "Up you get - you'll be fine, I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey and she'll put you right in a moment."

She hauled Neville to his feet and looked over at the rest of the class.

"Do not move while I take Mr Longbottom to the hospital wing - _none of you_, do you hear? Leave the brooms alone and stay on the ground, or you'll be out of Hogwarts, I swear. Come along, Mr Longbottom," she said, leading him away with an arm around him. His face was still white, blotchy tears were falling fast, and he was gritting his teeth against the pain.

Once they had left, the Slytherins began to laugh. "Serves him right for tattling this morning," said Malfoy, tears of laughter in his eyes. "Did you see his face? What a baby!"

"Can't even fly a broom without falling off!" put in Pansy Parkinson, to hoots of laughter. "I mean, I knew he was a klutz, but honestly?"

"Leave him alone," snapped Parvati, looking outraged. Harry felt the same way, and a quick glance around showed him that the other Gryffindors agreed. Ron's fists were clenched as he glared at the Slytherins.

"Sticking up for the cry baby?" said Parkinson, sharing a smirk with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode. "Never thought _you'd _like a great lump like Longbottom, Parvati."

Malfoy darted forward. "Look at this! It's that stupid thing Longbottom was showing off this morning, that his grandmother sent him!" He plucked Neville's Remembrall from the ground and held it up, where it glinted in the sunlight. The Slytherin's smirks grew.

Harry was seized by the urge to confront Malfoy, but at the last second, the niggling voice in his head that _still _sounded like Sirius whispered _head down, keep your head down. _He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening, but forced himself not to say anything. _Head down._

Why did it have to be so hard?

"Are you some kind of magpie, Malfoy? Give it back," snarled Seamus, taking a step forward, and then another, until he and Malfoy were nose to nose. Malfoy didn't flinch. Instead, he grabbed his broom.

"No," he said, kicking off. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find, don't you? If he can, that is." He laughed, rising ten feet, then twenty, tossing the Remembrall up and then catching it again.

"You bastard!" shouted Seamus, grabbing his own broom. Hermione darted forward, catching his arm.

"Seamus! No! Didn't you hear Madam Hooch? You'll get us in trouble - do you _want_ to be expelled?" she asked shrilly, her eyes darting between Seamus and Malfoy.

Seamus shook her off. "I promised I'd help him," he snarled, "and Malfoy needs to get what's coming to him!" He rose into the air to meet Malfoy. Harry couldn't see their expressions very well from down on the ground, but from what he could see, Seamus looked furious, and Malfoy was still smirking.

"I'll knock you off your broom and into next week!" Seamus shouted. "Give it here!"

Malfoy laughed. "You couldn't," he taunted. "You'll crash and fall, like Longbottom! All you Gryffindors are the same. Well - Longbottom's a special case. The only coward in Gryffindor for years! It's a shame he's a pureblood. He ruins our good name."

With a howl of righteous anger, Seamus shot forward, colliding with Malfoy. The Gryffindors let out a cheer. Malfoy was knocked aside for a moment before recovering and turning to face Seamus again, still clutching Neville's Remembrall.

"You'll have to do better than that!" he shouted, but he sounded slightly more worried than before.

"You don't have your goons up here to protect you, do you?" retorted Seamus. "No one up here to save your neck. Just you and me, Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced down at the ground, to where the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins stood, huddled together and staring up at the aerial battle with wide eyes. Ron and Dean kept letting out whoops of admiration, Lavender and Parvati had their hands over their mouths, and Hermione was looking on disapprovingly. The Slytherins seemed cool and expressionless, but there was a little bit of worry showing in their eyes.

"If you care so much about this stupid thing of Longbottom's," Malfoy began decisively, and then he threw the Remembrall as hard as he could towards the lake. "Fetch!"

For a second, even the Slytherins seemed frozen, and they saw the Remembrall fall as if in slow motion, plummeting towards the ground. If it hit it from this height, it would certainly smash. Lavender screamed as Seamus seemed to unfreeze and took off after it, sending his broom into a steep dive.

He was fifteen feet away from it - five feet - and the Remembrall was ten feet from the ground. Seamus closed the distance between him and the small glass orb, stretching out his hand to grab it out of the air.

And then he pulled up on his dive, his fingers fumbling for the Remembrall, but he missed and it dropped like a stone. Harry came to his sense and ran for it, managing to catch it in the palm of his hand before it smashed into the ground. Malfoy and Seamus landed on the ground, both seething with rage.

Ron clapped a hand on Harry's back. "Nice catch," he said, but then they were distracted by Seamus throwing himself at Malfoy and punching him in the stomach.

Pansy Parkinson screamed, this time. Harry thought he might have hearing damage by this time.

Malfoy and Seamus were a whirl of fists, and then Malfoy shouted for Crabbe and Goyle, who joined in, hauling Seamus off. Dean and Ron joined in, leaping on Crabbe and Goyle's backs and trying to bring them to the floor. Ron's battle cry was taken up by Dean and Seamus, and Crabbe, Malfoy, and Goyle were howling in anger, too. It sounded like some sort of dogfight.

The other first years backed away from the fight, and Harry was surprised Hermione wasn't going for a professor. Then he realised she didn't need to. Professor McGonagall, a livid expression on her face, was marching across the Quidditch Pitch.

"MALFOY! CRABBE! GOYLE! WEASLEY! FINNIGAN! THOMAS! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" she shouted.

The fighting boys froze, then disentangled themselves and got to their feet, nursing black eyes, bloody noses, loose teeth, and a large amount of bruises.

Professor McGonagall looked ready to breathe fire. "Crabbe - Goyle - Weasley - Thomas," she said, in a slow, deliberate voice that was shaking with rage. "Twenty points will be deducted from each of you for fighting. I am _appalled_ by your behaviour, truly _appalled_. You four had better go up to the hospital wing. No, Malfoy, you and Finnigan stay behind. I haven't finished with you yet."

Seeing Ron and Dean's dejected faces, and Seamus' sudden panic, Harry tried to intervene. "Please - professor, they were just -"

"Be quiet, Mr Lewis."

"But it was Malfoy who -" began Parvati.

"_Enough_, Miss Patil," said Professor McGonagall. She turned her glare onto Malfoy and Seamus. "Mr Finnigan and Mr Malfoy. Thirt ypoints from each of you, and you will both have detention for one night each week until the end of October - Mr Finnigan for starting the fight, and Mr Malfoy for provoking it. Yes, I saw," she added, when Malfoy opened his mouth. "So don't try to deny it. Where is Longbottom's Remembrall?"

"I've got it, professor," said Harry, showing her. "I'll get it back to him."

"Very well, Mr Lewis," she said, then turned back to Malfoy and Seamus. "Mr Finnigan, your detention will be arranged by Professor Snape, so report to his office and he will tell you when it will be held. Mr Malfoy, you will serve yours with me. Come see me at eight o'clock tonight. If you are late, you will serve another detention."

Seamus opened his mouth to protest, as did Malfoy, but then closed it again. Parvati said "With _Professor Snape_!" in a shocked whisper, but no one else commented.

"Now you two had better join your friends with Madam Pomfrey. Off you go," she said. Dejectedly, Malfoy and Seamus walked back towards the castle.

Professor McGonagall turned back to the rest of the class. "You will all wait here until Madam Hooch returns. _If_ any one of you should put even a _toe_ out of line, you will be joining Mr Malfoy and Mr Finnigan. I will be watching." She gave them a stern look, before heading back to the castle at a brisk pace.

Not quite sure what to do with themselves, the remaining Gryffindor and Slytherin first years sat down on the grass and waited for Madam Hooch to return. It wasn't long, but by then, the class was over, and she sent them up to their common rooms with a rather distracted air, not seeming to notice that there were six missing students (or perhaps they had met her in the hospital wing).

Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville did not return until the evening. Neville seemed extremely bewildered by the fact that Seamus had stood up for him, and guilty because Seamus had gotten a detention for his trouble. Neville was apologising over and over.

"For Merlin's sake, Neville!" Seamus finally snapped, just as they were coming in the portrait hole. "Stop apologising! I'm not sorry that I did it, and it wasn't your fault. I told you this morning I've been wanting to hit him for ages. Now I finally have."

Harry grinned when Ron came through the portrait hole. "All right?" he called out, from across the common room. Ron came over and sat down next to him.

"Fine," he said. "Madam Pomfrey fixed everything in minutes, of course, even Neville's arm, but she kept us for ages to 'make sure we were all right' -" he imitated Madam Pomfrey's voice, making Harry laugh "- and to give us a lecture about the dangers of flying and why we should never get involved in a fight." He shook his head. "She's mental, all right. Anyway, Danny, do you still have Neville's Remembrall? I told him you had it."

Harry's hand snaked to his pocket, where he felt the smooth glass orb. "Yeah," he said. "I'll just go give it to him. Won't be a moment." He pulled himself to his feet and started towards his dorm mate. "Neville!" he called out.

Neville turned from heading up towards the dorm. "What is it, Danny?" he asked.

Harry crossed over to him and placed the Remembrall in his hand. "Here. I caught it when Malfoy threw it. Hope it's not damaged."

But Neville's face was shining with gratitude as he turned it over in his hands. "Thank you," he whispered. He glanced over at Ron, at Seamus, and at Dean. "You guys are have all been so... nice to me. You stood up for me, and you rescued my stuff..."

"It's no problem, Neville," said Harry. "You're our friend. And our dorm mate. And you're a Gryffindor, too. All of the Gryffindors were angry about what Malfoy was doing."

"Really?" asked Neville. He sounded disbelieving. "Why? What Malfoy and Parkinson said... it wasn't all wrong."

"It _was_," said Harry firmly, closing Neville's fingers over the Remembrall. "The Sorting Hat chose you as a Gryffindor, Neville. Like the rest of us. You're not a cry baby, or a coward, and you're not a klutz."

"But I am," Neville whispered, his eyes wide. "I am, Danny."

"You can't be a coward if you're a Gryffindor, Neville," said Harry. "And since when has anything Malfoy's said been true?"

"I -" began Neville, then he stopped. "Thank you," he whispered. "I needed that."

"It's the truth," said Harry, giving him an encouraging smile before going back to sit next to Ron and continue tackling his Potions essay. Ron gave him the thumbs up when he caught sight of Neville's face.

"You did him good, mate," said Ron. "We were trying to get through to him all the way up here. What did you say?"

"I just showed him the truth," said Harry quietly. He glanced at the door to their dormitory, which Neville had just gone through, and back at his essay. _If I have any more days like today,_ he thought grimly, _it's going to be nearly impossible to keep my head down._

_But I have to try._


	10. A Rather Unusual Detention

Yes, it's a few hours late. Sorry. For some reason, this chapter kept doing things it was not supposed to do. *scowls at chapter* It's also too much like canon for my liking. Ah well.

Also, updates are probably going to be every two days now, as I need to work on more extensive plotting for book two (so I can slip in those vague hints, and figure out if anything else needs to happen in this one to set up the next one). Book Two, so far, is going to be long, much longer than canon. At least twenty-five chapters, but probably closer to thirty. And Book Three will be longer still (and look absolutely nothing like canon).

Anyway. I'm done babbling. Here is the chapter:

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**Chapter Nine: A Rather Unusual Detention**

"Wingardium leviosa!"

"Oh, well done! See here, everyone. Miss Granger's done it!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands, somehow missing the furious and embarrassed look on Ron's face. Hermione beamed at the praise, and Ron's scowl grew.

Harry winced. He knew he was by no means friends with Hermione, but he didn't hate her, as Ron seemed to. In fact, she reminded him a little of Remus - the only other person, apart from Sirius, he'd _truly_ gotten to know before Hogwarts. Oh, their temperaments were completely different - Hermione was forward and bossy, whereas Remus was shyer and more submissive. But they were similar in other ways. They were both smart, and bookish, and they tried to help whenever they could (even though Hermione was not aware her 'help' seemed to do more harm than good).

And they were both alone.

The problem was that Ron _was_ Harry's friend. And Ron was the sort of person who expected Harry to be by his side no matter what happened, and the few times Harry hadn't been, Ron had gotten a betrayed look on his face that made him flinch. There was also the fact that Harry didn't like to confront people, so he _did_ generally go along with what Ron said.

But right now, he couldn't be mad at Hermione for trying to help Ron, in her own way, for taking up his challenge and succeeding, and for enjoying Professor Flitwick's praise for something that _was_ impressive. However, he couldn't be mad at Ron for being angry at being shown up, for his bluff being called, and for feeling patronised and bossed around like some child.

Harry didn't know which side to take. He didn't think there was a right side, in this argument. There certainly wasn't an _easy_ side.

_Why, _he thought savagely, as Professor Flitwick dismissed them, _does my life have to be so complicated?_

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly," said Ron, as they were leaving the classroom with the others. Harry froze at Ron's words, then he felt someone knock into him as they almost ran past him.

It was Hermione, and she was crying. Harry felt sudden emotions well up in him, anger at Ron, worry about what he had to do, sympathy for Hermione - and then forced them down, letting only the righteous anger flow through him. _Ron, I'm sorry, but you go too far,_ he thought grimly.

"What did you say that for?" he demanded, letting his anger show on his face. He turned and took a step forward.

Ron backed up against the wall, startled. "Because she is! She should have noticed that she's got no friends!" He glanced down the corridor at Hermione and then back at Harry.

Harry was vaguely aware that Hermione had stopped, at the other end of the corridor, and that people were staring as they went past them. He didn't care. Right now, he was focused on Ron.

"You had no right to say anything like that," said Harry. "All right, she was being patronising. But you were _acting_ like a child, Ron! And I'm sorry, but I can't side with you if you're going to be deliberately malicious like that!"

Ron seemed incredibly flummoxed, and Harry knew it was because he had not been expecting anything like this. Most people, Ron included, saw him as Ron's tag-along, quiet and unassuming. His shadow, even. But he wasn't, not always. Now, he was showing them he was a person in his own right - a _different_ person to Ron, not the same. The fact that he was defending Hermione hardly mattered. He would have defended anyone, if no one else would.

The thing was he knew no one else would have defended her. They would defend Neville, yes. Because Neville was vulnerable, and didn't care if other people saw it. But Hermione was not - and the Gryffindors hadn't seen how much she was affected by their snide remarks. They hadn't seen hurt flash across her eyes before her face returned to its indifferent mask. They hadn't seen because they weren't _looking_.

Finally, Ron found his voice. "But it's Hermione, Danny," he said coaxingly, as if he could persuade Harry to take his side, like Harry had always done before. "You know what she's like. And you said she wasn't a friend of yours. Why are you defending her?"

"Because no one else is," said Harry, breathing through his mouth to remain calm. Ron could be such an _idiot_ sometimes. "Because you were in the wrong, this time. You had a right to be angry about how she was behaving to you, but _not _to say that stuff about her. That was uncalled for."

Shock clouded Ron's features for a moment. "Why are you acting like this?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. "You wouldn't stand up for Neville when Malfoy stole his Remembrall - and you didn't help Seamus when Crabbe and Goyle jumped him -"

"Because I knew you would defend Neville," said Harry quietly. "And you did. And then Professor McGonagall came and everything got sorted out."

"What about the fight?" asked Ron, a scowl crossing his face. "Why didn't you help then?"

"It was three on three," said Harry, shrugging. "It wouldn't be fair."

"It was a fight, Danny!" Ron exploded. "You wouldn't have tipped the odds! You know how big Crabbe and Goyle are!"

_But I would have_, Harry thought silently. _Because I grew up defending myself with only my fists. _But he couldn't say that. Why was this so _hard_? "You're getting off topic," Harry snapped. "This is about what you said to Hermione. If you go around saying things like that you're no better than Malfoy."

Ron's ears went red. "You're comparing me to him?" he demanded angrily, taking a step forward.

"Yes, I suppose I am!" Harry retorted, standing his ground.

Ron's face closed. "I - I -" he stammered, then he cleared his throat. "I'm _nothing_ like Malfoy. _Nothing._ You take that back, Danny."

"I will if you prove it," Harry replied. He turned slightly, so his attention was split between Ron and Hermione, still standing at the end of the corridor and watching the confrontation with wide eyes. "Apologise to her, Ron. Take back what you said. You were just as much in the wrong as she was."

Ron froze, his gaze flicking between Harry and Hermione. Then, grudgingly, he pulled himself off the wall and walked over to Hermione. "I'm sorry," he said - and he sounded at least halfway sincere, which was surprising but pleasing. "I shouldn't have said that. Danny was right - I've been acting like a prat. Do you forgive me?" He held out his hand.

Hermione blinked. Obviously she hadn't though Ron would apologise, let alone ask for forgiveness. "I - well, all right," she said, and they shook hands. Her face was still tearstained, but when she turned to Harry, there was a smile there. "Danny?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she said. "It's Hallowe'en tonight, you know. Better get to the Great Hall if you don't want to miss the feast." Then she walked away, leaving a contented Harry and a still slightly bewildered Ron, who was looking at Harry with a strange expression,

Harry grinned at Ron, suddenly slightly nervous about his reaction. "I take it back, okay?" he said. "You're not like Malfoy. He would never apologise, to anyone."

"Especially not Hermione," said Ron. He frowned at Harry as though scrutinising him. "Where did that come from, though? You're always - well, you never do anything like that. I thought you were just shy or something, but..."

Harry looked at his feet. "I don't know... I think you crossed some sort of line."

Ron shrugged. "Should have known. So you, what, unleashed your inner Gryffindor?" He laughed, and Harry cracked a smile. Ron didn't hate him. That was good. "Well, you must have been sorted here for a reason. Like you said to Neville. Wonder what it would take to let his out?"

"No idea," said Harry. He glanced at his watch. "The feast could be starting soon. Shall we go?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "Charlie told me Hallowe'en feast are the best ones. Of course, none of my other brothers agree with him, but they can't agree, either." He grinned, and they started walking towards the Great Hall, following the last few straggling students. "So," he said, as they pushed open the double doors and went to sit and the Gryffindor table. "Any other things I should know about that you've been keeping from me?"

Harry almost froze, and forced himself to keep moving, to sit down and act as though everything was okay. His heart was hammering. Unknowingly, Ron had put his finger on more than he knew.

"No," he said quietly, "no, I'm an open book."

A lie. But a necessary one.

The Great Hall was spectacular. The candles flickered inside the pumpkins as thousands of live bats swooped around, fluttering off the walls and occasionally swooping down, making some of the girls shriek and getting tangled in their hair. The feast appeared on golden plates, and every dug in with gusto.

"Where's Seamus?" Ron asked Dean, swallowing a mouthful of food.

"Detention with Snape," Dean said, shrugging. "Remember? One night a week until the end of the month? Snape deliberately made it so he'd miss the Hallowe'en feast."

Harry glanced up at the staff table. "But Snape's there," he said, puzzled, and turned a questioning stare on Dean. "Is Seamus locked in the dungeon scrubbing cauldrons or something?"

"Probably," said Dean, returning to the food. "He didn't come back to the dorm until almost midnight last time, so I think he'll be a while."

The doors to the Great Hall burst open and Professor Quirrell sprinted in as if a hoard of angry hippogriffs were chasing him. His turban was slightly askew, and his mouth was half open in terror. He looked paper white. The professor made it to the staff table and gasped out, "Troll! In the dungeons - though you ought to know -" and his eyes rolled back in his head as he fainted.

The hall, which had been silent from Professor Quirrell's abrupt entrance, was suddenly filled with noise. People screamed and tried to run for the doors, only to be caught up in the crush. One or two of the first years had fainted from terror, like Professor Quirrell. Several firecrackers exploded from Dumbledore's wand, and there was silence again.

"Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!" he instructed, a grave look on his face. His eyes were not twinkling.

Percy, Ron's elder brother, herded the first year Gryffindors together and out of the Great Hall. Lavender was shaking with fear, her face white. Parvati had her arm around her, though she didn't look much better herself. Dean trailed behind Percy, looking slightly stunned, and Hermione had the same expression on. Neville's eyes were wide and he kept anxiously glancing into shadowy corners, as if afraid the troll would leap out at them. Ron, for once, was quiet.

The group seemed smaller than it should be, he thought, as they jostled past a group of Ravenclaws, who gave them disgruntled looks. Who was -

And then it struck him. _Seamus._

Seamus was in detention. Professor Snape was not with him. He was in the dungeon, where the troll was. And he didn't know about it.

"_Ron_!" he hissed, tugging his friend's arm and pulling him away from the others, into the shadow behind a stone griffin.

"What?" asked Ron. He pulled away, confused. "Why aren't we going with Percy and the others?"

"I just thought - Seamus. He's in the dungeon. And he doesn't know," said Harry urgently. He glanced at Percy, who hadn't noticed anything, and was leading the others away past a group of Hufflepuffs. "Come on!"

Ron hesitated, but then nodded, his face set with determination. "All right," he agreed, and they turned to go the other way, towards the dungeons -

"Where are you going?" someone demanded. It was Hermione. Her arms were crossed, and she looked fierce. "We need to catch up with the others."

"Hermione," said Harry, "Seamus is in the dungeons. And he doesn't know."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, all right," she snapped. "But if we run into a professor, I'm doing the explaining."

"Fair enough," said Harry, cutting off Ron, who had opened his mouth to say something unfortunate. _Again._ "Come on, there's a shortcut behind this tapestry."

They hurried through and down to the dungeons, avoiding a group of Slytherin students as they did so, but the troll didn't appear to be there. Relieved, but a little suspicious, Harry yanked on the door to the Potions classroom, but found it locked.

Desperately, he turned to Ron and Hermione.

"Move _over_," said Hermione, pushing him aside. "_Alohomora._" The door swung open with a click.

"Nice one," said Ron, sounding genuinely impressed. They rushed inside.

Seamus was scrubbing a cauldron in the middle of the classroom, a ferocious scowl on his face, and he looked up when they entered. The Irish boy started in surprise, confusion evident in his face. "Ron - Danny - what are you three doing here? Did Snape give you detention, too?"

"No," said Harry, "but Seamus, you need to come with us, now. There's a troll loose in the dungeons somewhere, Professor Quirrell told the whole school in the Great Hall - only you weren't there - come _on_, we have to go."

Seamus blanched, and he clambered to his feet. "A troll loose in the dungeons?" he said carefully, glancing between Ron, Harry, and Hermione's faces as if hoping this was some sort practical joke. "You're not serious?"

"We are, and we have to hurry!" Harry said. "We're all supposed to be up in the common room right now!"

"All right, I'm coming," said Seamus, discarding the scrubbing brush and hurrying over to them. "Let's go, before Snape comes back and puts us _all_ in detention."

They only made it halfway to the common room - to the fourth floor - when they smelt the most horrendous smell. It was like the smell of a school bathroom or public toilet - just a hundred times worse. Harry wrinkled his nose, as did the others, but they froze when they saw the gargantuan shadow against the wall of the corridor ahead. They could hear low grunting and the sound of humongous feet shuffling aimlessly along the stone floor.

"The troll's left the dungeon," Hermione said in a terrified whisper. She sounded as though she might pass out.

"What do we do?" moaned Ron, pressing himself against the wall. "We're done for!" His voice was rising in fear.

"Shut up!" snapped Harry, as quietly as he could. "It might pass us by!" A naive hope, he knew, but if they were _very _quiet...

Too late: the troll had heard something at least, because the shadow seemed to pause before it started forward, moving quickly towards them. Hermione let out a muffled shriek. And then the troll came around the corner.

"It's - it's huge," said Seamus faintly, looking terrified.

It certainly was. It was at least seven times as tall as a man, so high it had to stoop even in Hogwarts' high-roofed halls. It had long, gangly arms, thick as pillars and oddly lumpy, bulging in odd places. It's body was much of the same: lumpy and gray, simply enormous, with a small bald head sitting on top. The troll had an enormous club which it was dragging along behind it, and it's feet were horned and only slightly smaller than cars were. And the smell was absolutely awful.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Hermione, and she sounded like it.

It seemed to be scanning the hallway as though looking for something. That was when it's beady black eyes settled on the four Gryffindor first years, and it gave a loud grunt and started towards them, swinging it's club and smashing it into the walls of the corridor, leaving dents in the stonework.

Hermione screamed. Ron and Seamus yelled. Harry was no less terrified, but he'd been in situations like this before and he knew that shouting was not very productive unless you expected aid. But in every situation like this he'd been in - matters of life or death - he had been with Sirius.

Sirius was not here right now. He was alone. He had to fight this battle by himself.

They were backing away even before the troll began to run, but when it did, they turned their backs and sprinted towards the end of the corridor. Seamus grappled with the door handle, but he was overcome by terror and was only fumbling it.

Suddenly the troll lunged out, one hand splayed wide and grabbed for something. Ron screamed as he was roughly yanked away by the ankle and dangled, upside down in mid-air, utterly helpless even as he thrashed and tried to free himself. Seamus managed to get the door open, but now he wasn't trying to go through it; they couldn't go while Ron was in the troll's grasp - literally.

"Seamus! Go find a professor!" yelled Harry, drawing his wand and pointing it at the troll.

"I can't leave you!" protested Seamus.

"We can't beat a troll, only stall it! Go find a professor!" Harry returned. He suddenly realised as he raised his wand that he didn't have a single idea for a spell to cast. He didn't _know_ any offensive spells. Sirius had shown him how to fight like a muggle, because any magic he did could be traced - but muggle-style fighting would not work on a troll. It would get him killed.

Seamus hesitated, clearly not liking the idea, but the logic of Harry's words seemed to penetrate him and he raced off, shouting loudly for a professor. Harry hoped it wasn't Filch who heard him.

Ron yelled and just managed to pull himself up as the troll swung at him with the club. His face was turning red with all the blood rushing to it. They had to do something, and fast.

"Confuse it!" Harry yelled to Hermione, who seemed frozen in shock, ran between the troll's legs and grabbed a piece of rock that had broken off the wall when smashed by the troll's club. He threw it and it struck the troll in the back of the head with a dull _thunk_. "Hey, ugly! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he yelled.

He wasn't sure if it was the taunt or the rock; either way, it worked. The troll dropped Ron and Hermione seemed to unfreeze, rushing over to him and helping him to his feet. Unfortunately, the troll started for Harry, letting out a roar of rage. He backed away.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" he heard Hermione cry, and Ron echoed her. The debris from the smashed wall rose and suddenly smashed itself into the troll's face. The troll roared again, as the rock left gashes and bruise, and one eye seemed to have been damaged. Harry wasn't sure if a half blind troll was more dangerous or less so.

The troll raised it's club and brought it smashing down, sending a shockwave across the floor that made Harry stumble and breaking up part of the stonework. Ron and Hermione sent this, along with the other debris, smashing into the troll's face again, but this only seemed to make it mad.

It swung it's club suddenly and Harry just managed to scramble away, tripping over and falling to the ground. He picked himself up again, ducking another swing and ignoring Hermione's scream.

"Do something!" Ron cried out. "This isn't working!"

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" shouted Hermione again, but the spell missed when the troll got in the way. Hermione was a gifted witch, yes, but even she couldn't levitate a troll.

The troll lashed out with the club again, and this time, it didn't miss.

Harry cried out in pain as the club smashed into his side, sending him flying into the wall of the corridor. He heard the crack of a breaking bone again and a stabbing pain in his ribs - they were broken, or at least some of them were. Hermione screamed again, and Ron let out a strangled cry. Harry placed his hand to his side gingerly, and it came away bloody.

The pain washed over him and he had to fight not to pass out. The troll grunted, taking a step forward and raising it to swing it at him. If it smashed into him with as much force as the last blow had, it would probably kill him.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" he heard Ron shout out, and the troll swung - but the club was no longer in it's hand. It rose, high, almost to the ceiling, and tilted - then it came crashing downwards, slamming onto the troll's head.

It teetered, then dropped to the floor like a stone, falling flat on it's face and causing the whole corridor to shake. There was a sudden silence.

Harry coughed, and he was startled to see a small amount of blood spatter onto the floor in front of him. He stared at it stupidly, trying to make sense of it through the fogginess that was his mind. Ron and Hermione hurried over to him.

"Oh my - Danny! Danny, are you okay!" Hermione cried. He coughed again.

"I... no," he rasped. Ron and Hermione were both white and shaking, and he knew he was probably the same way. "Broken... ribs, I think. Where are... the professors? Seamus was getting... them..." he trailed off in another cough that sent stabbing pains through his chest.

"Don't talk," Ron advised. "Merlin, you're coughing up blood!"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and the door to the corridor swung open. Someone - Professor McGonagall, he thought - let out a loud exclamation when she saw the troll, and then the three first years.

"Mr Weasley! Mr Lewis! Miss Granger! What happened here?" asked Professor McGonagall. Harry twisted slightly: Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell were with her. Seamus wasn't; he had probably been sent to the common room. Harry winced at the pain brought on by the slight movement.

"We - we went looking for Seamus, because he was in detention with Professor Snape, and when we were coming up here we ran into the troll," said Hermione. "It - it grabbed Ron, so Danny told Seamus to get a teacher and we distracted it. Ron knocked it out with it's own club, but that was after Danny got hit." She let out a choked sob, of fear and anxiety and the emotions that had built up to a boiling point during the battle.

Professor McGonagall's furious face suddenly became one of concern and she swiftly knelt by Harry. "Mr Lewis. Are you all right?"

"Broken ribs," he managed, then coughed again. The blood startled her, but she remained composed.

"Miss Granger. Fetch Madam Pomfrey," instructed Professor McGonagall. Hermione ran off. "Severus - can you do anything in the meantime?" she asked. "Do you have any potions on you?"

"No," said Professor Snape, his lip curling slightly. "I did not imagine even a Gryffindor would be so foolish as to try to take on a fully grown mountain troll, let alone a first year."

Professor McGonagall ignored the barb. "Mr Lewis. I am going to put you to sleep so we can move you more easily. But first," she said, her eyes flickering to Ron and the others in the room before returning to him. "I think five points each to Gryffindor - for sheer dumb luck, mind you. Not many first years could take on a fully grown mountain troll and come out of it even relatively unscathed."

"You call this unscathed?" Ron muttered. Professor McGonagall, luckily, didn't hear him.

"Now," she said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at Harry. "_Quiesco,_" she said clearly, and a stream of silvery light came out from her wand and seemed to settle on Harry. He felt his eyes slip shut, and he was falling, the sounds around him fading as he slid into unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard was Hermione and Madam Pomfrey hurrying over to him, and the school matron's loud exclamation at his condition. Then, the sounds faded to black around him, the spell overcame him, and he went to sleep.


	11. Making Connections

Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

This one follows the aftermath of the troll fight, which wasn't covered in canon, and a couple of other plot threads. And Snape is a git, and Harry starts putting the pieces together.

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**Chapter Ten: Making Connections**

Harry woke up some time about mid-morning in the hospital wing, light creeping over the window-ledge into a puddle on the floor. His ribs still ached, but there was no longer the sharp, stabbing pain of shard of bone digging into his chest. He'd expected to have a giant, purple bruise where the troll's club had hit him, but Madam Pomfrey had fixed that, too, and the bruise was now a faded yellow, barely there at all.

That was when the enormity of what they'd done struck him like a blow, and he groaned, rolling over in the bed. A _troll._ He'd fought a _troll_, and ended up in the hospital wing. This was the complete opposite of what Sirius had told him to do - by now, half the school would know. So much for not attracting attention.

One good thing, though, was that he had been the only one to be injured in the fight. If Dumbledore wanted to know what had happened, he could ask Ron, Hermione, or even Seamus. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let Dumbledore question _him_ until he was fully healed. Also, as extraordinary as three first years besting a mountain troll was, since he was the one to be hurt, Dumbledore wouldn't be looking to closely at him. Ron and Hermione, maybe. He'd have to make sure he never let anything slip to them, in case Dumbledore used legilimency on them.

He caught sight of the small table beside him, piled high with gifts from well-wishers, and had to stifle another groan of annoyance. As the one who'd gotten hurt, he'd attract less attention from the _staff_, but not from the students. They'd be more fascinated with him than the others.

But he couldn't have done anything other than what he _had_ done, could he? Maybe if he'd told everyone to run the instant they'd seen the shadow... but Hermione had been frozen in fear, and they'd tried to be as quiet as they could. Opening doors was noisy. They would have been spotted by the troll. But maybe they'd have gotten away...

No, they couldn't have. Trolls were faster than eleven-year-olds when they ran, and all that would have happened was that more of the castle would have been damaged. Harry had done all he could, as had Seamus, Hermione, and Ron.

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as Madam Pomfrey hustled in. "Oh, you're awake, are you? You're not to leave that bed until tomorrow. Your ribs aren't quite healed yet, and you need to rest."

Harry nodded, but he didn't like it. Another day in the hospital wing, when he wasn't sure how long he'd already been in there, would only create more rumours - something he'd rather avoid. "How long have I been out?" he asked, looking at Madam Pomfrey and hoping it wasn't too long.

"Thirteen hours. I had you in here overnight after we brought you up here. Your friends Mr Weasley and Miss Granger seemed to want to keep an overnight vigil, but I sent them back to their dormitories to get some rest, after I was done with them," Madam Pomfrey told him, a stern look in her eye.

Ron and Hermione had wanted to stay with him... together? That didn't make any sense. "Both of them?" he asked, for confirmation. "They both were willing to stay with me, _together_?"

"Yes, both of them. They seemed to be getting on better than any of the professors say they've done in the past, which was a surprise."

"Did they argue much?" asked Harry, not quite able to believe it.

"Not at all, they were working together. Trying to convince me to let them stay. Of course, just because you're friends doesn't mean they can stay in the hospital wing longer to keep an eye on you. I do a perfectly good job of that myself," the matron informed him. She pulled down the blankets and lifted his shirt so she could see his chest and stomach. "Does that hurt?" she asked, giving it a gentle prod.

"A little," said Harry. "Wait, they were in here? Were they hurt?"

"Shock, mostly," said Madam Pomfrey, tutting. "Well, that's what you get for fighting mountain trolls. A very foolish venture, of course. And I want to know what it was doing here in the first place. If Peeves let it in..." She shook her head. "Well - does _that_ hurt?"

"Ow! Yes," said Harry. "What time is it?"

Madam Pomfrey pulled a phial full of salve out from her pocket and poured some onto her hand before rubbing it over the bruised skin. The salve seemed to seep through it, so after a couple of seconds, he couldn't tell it had been applied at all. "Ten o'clock, so everyone is in class. I'm afraid you'll have to catch up on two days of classes, but Miss Granger should be able to help you with that."

Harry nodded. "And we didn't mean to get involved with the troll," he told her. "It was an accident. Seamus was in detention, and we had to go find him, because he didn't know, and -"

"Stop worrying yourself, Mr Lewis," said Madam Pomfrey. "Mr Finnigan, Mr Weasley, and Miss Granger have all told me this already. Professor McGonagall has already had an argument with Professor Snape on his timing for Mr Finnigan's detention."

"Oh. Good," said Harry. His hand slipped to his chest to clasp the pendant Sirius had given him - and then he realised that if Madam Pomfrey had healed his ribs while he was unconscious, there was no way she wouldn't have seen it. And if she's seen it, she might have taken it off, or figured out what it was for, or - He tried to cut off that train of thought, but too late: he was panicking. His breathing hitched, and his hands shook slightly. What if she knew? _What if she knew_?

"Mr Lewis. Relax," Madam Pomfrey instructed. "You are doing yourself no favours." She caught sight of his hand clasping the pendant, as if to hide it from view, and she smiled grimly. "Ah. You are worried that I've realised what your pendant does, aren't you?"

He could do nothing except nod; his voice wasn't working, and if it were, it would probably come out as a squeak or a rasp.

"Don't worry, you wouldn't be the first student whose parents wanted protective amulets for their children. I'm afraid the spells on your one don't seem to be very effective, but there's definitely _some_ magic there. I haven't had time to find out what, yet - would you like me to?"

"No!" said Harry quickly, even as relief was washing through him. _She doesn't know! She just thinks it's a protection amulet, she doesn't know about the glamours._ "No, it's fine," he said, as she gave him a strange look. "You don't need to - I don't think they do anything, they probably just stop the string from fraying and stuff."

She frowned, still looking suspicious. "I suppose, but there are some large spells on that pendant. There must be some other spells than just maintenance ones. Let me check, it won't take a minute."

And the panic was back. _No!_ his mind screamed and, suddenly, his accidental magic answered. He felt his magic wash over the room, settling on the matron and enfolding her. It was not something he could see, but rather sense, and then it retreated, its work done. Madam Pomfrey blinked, twice, in confusion, and shook her head as though to clear it. She turned to head to her private storerooms and said, "I'll just check on my potion stocks, so lie back and get some rest, Mr Lewis."

Harry relaxed again. He hadn't expected his accidental magic to keep appearing, now that he was learning to control it at school, but it was a good thing it had. His panic had called it, like normal - _when you're angry, or afraid,_ Sirius had said it would do something - only this time, he wasn't sure what exactly it had done. Had it wiped Madam Pomfrey's memory? If so, what if one of the other professors found out and she regained her memory? Or had it been something more like a confundus charm, or a befuddlement jinx? What if she overcame it?

_Stop it_, he told himself. He'd had a lucky escape and he had to be more careful. Fretting over whether or not the escape could last wouldn't do anything to help.

_All the same,_ he thought, _the troll incident is the last time I play the hero. Heroes are noticed. I can't afford to be noticed. I have to fade into the background, and not be thought of. Like it or not, that's how it is._

* * *

After some persuading, Madam Pomfrey released him from the hospital wing in time for the next day's first class, Herbology. He'd been slowly dying of boredom in the hospital, because he hadn't been allowed visitors. So many people had wanted to, wanting to see if he really was on death's door as the rumours said, and others had just wanted to see the boy who fought a troll. Madam Pomfrey had kept everyone out, as she had no way of knowing who really was friend and who was just pretending.

He'd been right in his assumptions, he noticed, as he walked down to the greenhouses with Ron and Hermione. People stood on tiptoe to get a better look at him, or doubled back in the corridors. The professors, however, seemed to be more focused on Ron and Hermione, as if wondering if it really _was_ just luck that they'd escaped the troll uninjured.

Ron and Hermione had been waiting outside the hospital wing for him, even though Madam Pomfrey had sent everyone away. The first thing Ron told him was that he and Hermione had gotten over their differences.

"And - well, I suppose fighting a troll together and seeing you get sent to the hospital wing and almost get mobbed by everyone who wanted to see you sort of opened our eyes," said Ron. "I don't mind her, now, actually."

"Same here," said Hermione, when Harry looked at her. "We've made up, and we're not going to argue anymore, or insult each other -"

"Well, we'll try, anyway," Ron put in. "Come on, we've got Herbology now with the Hufflepuffs. Prepare for a lot of attention."

"Ron's actually enjoying it," Hermione said, with a sigh. "Everyone constantly coming up to us and asking how the battle went - he actually likes the attention."

"I've got five older brothers, Hermione," said Ron. "But none of them ever fought a troll. Fred and George considered admitting they were related to me." He said it with a note of surprise and pleasure in his voice, as though this was not something the twins considered often.

They were the last to arrive at the greenhouses, getting there just as Professor Sprout was unlocking the door and ushering them in. Everyone went quiet as they approached, before breaking out into conversation again and stealing glances at them every so often. Harry gritted his teeth and fought the urge to duck his head and pull his collar up as if to hide behind it.

Hermione was working with three Hufflepuffs on her tray and Ron was with Seamus, Dean, and another Hufflepuff boy called Ernie Macmillan, who Ron didn't seem to like very much. Harry was on the same tray as Neville, Susan, and Hannah, however. They carefully watered the herbs as Professor Sprout lectured them about the magical healing properties of dittany.

"So," Susan said, when Professor Sprout was finished speaking. "I heard you fought a troll?"

Harry groaned. "Everyone knows, don't they?" he asked bitterly, stabbing at the soil with his gardening fork and hastily removing it again as Professor Sprout gave him a disapproving look.

"It's all anyone can talk about," Neville said. "Dean kept pestering Ron and Seamus about it, and Hermione spent most of lunch in the library to get away from Parvati and Lavender. The only reason people know is because Seamus has been telling everyone you saved his life."

"Don't worry," Hannah told him. "Something else will come up, and everyone will forget about it."

"Just got to grin and bear it until then," said Susan. "Neville, could you pass me that watering can? The green one. Thanks."

"I know," said Harry, sighing. "Well, at least Madam Pomfrey will be happy. I'm not doing anything noticeable like that again, so I'll probably be able to stay out of the hospital wing."

"You can always try," said Susan shrewdly, "but it doesn't always work that way. From what Hermione Granger says, you didn't exactly choose to go after it. You were just getting Seamus Finnigan from detention."

"And from what Ron Weasley says, you knew you could take down the troll so you heroically fought it off so Seamus could escape, and while you distracted it he and Hermione Granger cast some magnificent magic and the troll was knocked out. But his story keeps changing, so I'm not sure of the accuracy," said Hannah, with a grin. Harry glared at Ron, who was two trays over and didn't notice. Hermione at least was playing it down, but Ron...

_He doesn't know why I don't like the attention,_ he reminded himself. _It's not his fault. I mustn't blame him._

As the day progressed, he had to constantly remind himself about that. The stares were becoming more than he could handle, and he found himself walking as close to the walls as possible, looking at the floor, and slipping into the shadows wherever he could. Ron, who wasn't very good with emotions, didn't manage to pick up that Harry hated attention and kept trying to drag him out to talk to people and give his side of the story. Not wanting another confrontation with Ron so soon after the last one, Harry didn't say anything about it, but dodged out of the way instead.

Hermione became fed up with both of them during lunch, scolded Ron for making Harry uncomfortable and then turned on Harry for not _telling _Ron about it. "Honestly, Danny, you're not a mute," she said, buttering a slice of bread. "Next time _you_ need to tell him you're feeling uncomfortable. He can't take a hint, you know, so he won't realise on his own."

"Hey!" said Ron, crossing his arms. "I resent that."

"Well, it's true," Hermione shot back. Harry grinned. Ron and Hermione still bickered - it was just that they were friendly about it now, and neither of them really meant it anymore. It was a welcome change.

"What have we got after this?" asked Ron, with his mouth full.

"Potions and then Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, who had by now memorised the timetable. "That's disgusting, by the way."

"Oh, no," said Harry despairingly. "Potions... Snape's going to be a nightmare. He'll hate that we're getting all this attention, and even more the fact that Professor McGonagall gave us points for almost being killed."

Ron groaned. "Wish I hadn't asked," he said. "Do you suppose we'll lose more or less points if we skip class?"

"Ron!" said Hermione, looking scandalised. "We are _not_ skipping class! What if we cover something important, like poison antidotes, and you miss it? What if someone gets poisoned later and you won't know what to do?"

"What's the likelihood of someone getting poisoned?" asked Ron, but at the look on Hermione's face, he hastily backtracked. "Actually, you're right, skipping class is a bad idea," he said quickly. "Definitely not something we should do."

Harry sniggered. Ron glared at him.

As it turned out, it might have been better had they skipped class after all. The Gryffindors arrived at Potions before the Slytherins did, and that was perhaps the only good thing that happened all lesson. Harry sat down with Ron, and on the same table, Hermione partnered with Neville. The Slytherins came in, some casting black looks at the Gryffindors, others sniggering or rolling their eyes. They, unlike the rest of the school, did not seem to be in awe of Harry, Ron, and Hermione for defeating the troll. It had been nice up until now, but he suspected things were about to take a nasty turn.

Professor Snape swept in, his black eyes sweeping over the class and settling into a sneer when he looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He then began taking the register, as was normal, and making snide remarks about the Gryffindors when he called their names.

"Brown... did you bother to have a look at your textbook this week, or do I have to give you detention? Bulstrode... Crabbe... Davis... Finnigan... have you learnt to control yourself yet, Finnigan? Anymore fighting and Gryffindor might suddenly find itself in negative points. Goyle... Granger... The girl who's able to take down a troll with a first year spell, but not able to resist showing off and raising her hand to every question I ask."

Hermione flushed in embarrassment and tears pricked her eyes, but she did not cry. The Slytherins laughed loudly while the Gryffindors clenched their fists and teeth, fighting not to say anything. Pansy Parkinson whispered something to the other Slytherin girls and the laughter grew.

Snape continued. "Greengrass... Lewis..." Snape's sneer suddenly became vicious, and Harry winced, knowing what came next would not be good. "You seem to regard breaking ribs as a publicity stunt, Lewis. Perhaps all the attention makes you feel important? Needed? Are you so desperate for recognition that you think going after a troll is a good way to be noticed?"

The Slytherins howled with laughter, but Harry saw red as Snape turned his mocking expression onto him. Hadn't Snape _seen_ that he hated it? Ron was one thing - he was naturally unobservant, and could be forgiven for it - but Snape noticed _everything._ He must have seen that Harry hated it. And yet he'd said it anyway.

_Because he knew it would make me more upset than anything else he could say,_ Harry realised, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. That was... incredibly Slytherin of the greasy-haired professor. "No, sir," he said quietly, looking at his desk and refusing to meet Snape's eyes (a bad idea anyway, if he was as good at legilimency as Sirius believed).

"Yes, Lewis," said Snape, smirking slightly. "Because you are not important, and you are not needed, whatever you might think."

_And he said that to rile up Ron, not me, _Harry thought, and was proven right within the next second.

"He's needed more than you are!" Ron snarled, glaring at Snape hatefully.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley," said Snape, his smirk growing wider. Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but Harry kicked him.

"It's not worth it, not for me," Harry whispered.

"It is!" Ron retorted, just as quietly.

"Another ten points, Weasley, Lewis, for talking in class," Snape said curtly. Ron glared and clenched his fists, but luckily didn't say anything else. Malfoy smirked, and Ron made a violent gesture that Snape luckily didn't catch.

"Longbottom... if you melt another cauldron Longbottom, I assure you the consequences will not be at all pleasant," Snape said. Neville gulped, looking terrified. "Malfoy... Nott... Parkinson... Patil... if you so much as glance out of the window or at the door during this lesson, you will share your fate with Longbottom. Thomas... the boy with fingers so slippery the he cannot cork a sample without smashing a phial. Weasley..."

Harry tensed: Snape's sneer was even more mocking than it had been when the professor had addressed him.

"I hear you are somewhat of a celebrity now, Weasley, though your story changes with each retelling. Do you feel so smothered by your brothers' successes that you have to resort to putting your friends in life-threatening danger to step out from their shadow?"

Harry saw the hit go home, and the worst part of it was that it was partly true. Ron _was_ loving the attention, his story _did_ change with each retelling and he _did_ see this as a way to step out of his brothers' shadows. But that wasn't why they had fought the troll; they hadn't meant to do that.

Ron, however, seemed incapable of rational thought, and it probably did help that the Slytherins were snickering again, and that Malfoy's smirk was wider than it ever had been. The redhead got to his feet - Harry tried to pull him back down, but Ron shook him off - gave Snape his best glare, and practically snarled as he spoke. "You think you're so great, the terrifying Potions Master who can ridicule us and taunt us and act biased against us, and we can't do anything without losing points or getting detention. But you're really just a greasy, sadistic bastard with a fetish for making first years go red with embarrassment! You're slimy, evil, and pathetic, and everyone hates you except your precious snakes! You -"

Ron only stopped because Harry - with Hermione's assistance - finally managed to get him to sit down and Hermione had placed her hand over his mouth. Snape's lip was curling in amusement. Harry held his breath.

"Detention, Weasley," said Snape. "And - let's see - five points from Gryffindor for every insult that came out of your mouth. Now unless you can sit down and keep your mouth shut without Lewis and Granger's assistance, it will be fifty."

Ron looked murderous, but Harry and Hermione let him go, not wanting to make Snape any angrier than he was and hoping Ron would control himself. He did, barely, and they breathed a sigh of relief.

"Zabini," said Snape, finishing the register. "Now, we can begin."

Things didn't improve as the lesson went on. By the end, Neville and Lavender were in tears, Parvati, Seamus, and Ron looked like they were about to break Snape's neck if he came too close, and Gryffindor was down at least fifty points. They almost sprinted from the classroom when the bell rang, much to the amusement of the Slytherins, and the class was in decidedly low spirits when they went to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry, however, has something to think about. He'd noticed, as Snape stalked around their cauldrons, that the professor was limping. It hadn't taken much to quell the urge to ask why, with Snape's mood, but his mind was whirring, trying to figure out what was going on.

How many strange things had happened so far in the year? They were only two months into classes, but already, things were abnormal. Snape limping, the troll at Hallowe'en, Tom Riddle on the Marauder's Map, the forbidden third floor corridor... and then, from outside the school, there was the Gringotts break-in on the last day of July, a month before school started.

Could they all be connected? How? Perhaps whatever was almost stolen at Gringotts was here, at Hogwarts? If it was, where did the troll come in, and Tom Riddle, and Snape limping? Perhaps the troll was the thing in the third floor corridor, and it had somehow escaped. But then why would Snape be limping? How did Professor Quirrell and Tom Riddle come into it?

Harry realised, in frustration, that he just didn't _know_ enough to figure out what was going on. While the rest of the class copied down notes about jinxes and their counters, Harry was turning over the problem in his mind. _I can just ask Professor Quirrell about Tom Riddle,_ he realised. He didn't think the professor would mind, and if he thought it was odd, he didn't seem the type to go to Dumbledore immediately about it.

When class was finished, Harry whispered for Ron and Hermione that he'd catch up, and to wait in the tower for him, before approaching Professor Quirrell. "Excuse me - Professor?" he asked.

The professor turned around from cleaning the blackboard. "Mr L-L-Lewis? What is it?"

"Er - I was just wondering - do you know anyone called Tom Riddle?"

Professor Quirrell paused, straightening his turban. He seemed even more nervous than before. "T-Tom Riddle? Where d-did you h-hear that n-name?"

"Some people were talking about it, and the mentioned you," lied Harry. "Is he a pet of yours or something?"

The Professor laughed nervously. "Oh - y-yes, a p-pet. H-he d-d-doesn't like n-noise, s-so I keep h-him in my quarters."

"Oh," said Harry. So Tom Riddle was just a pet? Now that Quirrell had confirmed it, it didn't sound quite right. "Odd name for a pet."

"Y-yes, I've b-b-been t-told. N-now, off with y-you, Mr L-L-Lewis, or y-your friends w-will think I've m-murdered you." He laughed nervously again, glancing at the door.

Harry frowned. There was more to this, he was sure, but Professor Quirrell obviously wasn't going to tell him. "Goodbye, professor," he said, picking up hit bag and heading out of the classroom.

When he glanced back, he saw Quirrell hadn't moved, but was watching him with a strange expression on his face.


	12. Unexpected Events

So this is late. Sorry about that. I can blame the lateness on having to rewrite everything, friends coming over, family board games and Doctor Who. Well, at least it's here now.

Updates may even slip to every three days soon. Tomorrow school starts again, and exams are in about four weeks. So I'm probably going to have very little free time to write this story, and I'm not sure how quickly I'll be able to get chapters finished.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Unexpected Events**

"You have to come!"

"I don't _have_ to do anything, Ron."

"Everyone goes to see the Quidditch games!"

"Everyone except me, then."

"Gryffindor is playing, Hermione!"

"I don't like Quidditch, Ron!"

"You don't know that, you've never played! You haven't even seen a game."

"Flying class is quite enough, thank you."

"Just this one game!"

"I'd rather be in the library."

"The _library_?"

"Yes, Ron, the library."

"But it's Saturday!"

"And?"

Harry shook his head, listening to Ron and Hermione bicker, but he didn't get involved. Getting in between them while they were fighting never had very pleasant results. The argument had actually started the previous day, when Ron mentioned the Quidditch game and Hermione said she wasn't going to go. Ron had been trying to persuade her since, but now, the morning of the game, he was getting desperate.

It had been about two weeks since the troll incident, and in all the hype about Quidditch, the attention they'd been getting had waned. Harry was grateful, and even Ron agreed it had been a bit much. Hermione maintained that Ron only thought that because he was sick of Percy trying to give them lectures on foolish behaviour every time they ran into him.

_Quidditch_ was the only word on anyone's lips. The first game of the season was being played, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, and from what Harry had heard, the teams were fairly evenly matched. Both teams were already down in the locker rooms, getting ready and having last minute pep talks. The game started in an hour.

Even the teachers seemed to have become caught up in it; Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape kept glaring at each other when they crossed paths in the halls, and Harry had seen both of them talking quietly with the team captain,s no doubt giving them last minute advice. Madam Hooch was walking with a spring in her step, as though nothing could possibly be more thrilling than refereeing a Quidditch game.

"And, you're supposed to relax on Saturday! Not go to the library and study!" Ron exploded.

"What if that is relaxing for me?" inquired Hermione.

"Studying isn't relaxing to anyone!"

"Not to you, maybe."

"Hermione, everyone will be there. You'll be all alone in the castle."

"I'll be in the library."

"No you won't, not if I have anything to say about it."

"Going to drag me down to the pitch, then?"

"Maybe I am!"

Sensing that the argument had turned into a full-blown fight, Harry got between them quickly. "Look, both of you, you need to calm down - Ron, Hermione's right, you can't force her if she doesn't want to go -"

"So you're picking her side?" demanded Ron.

"I'm just saying she has a point," said Harry quickly.

"Are _you_ coming to the game?" asked Ron.

"Of course," said Harry, surprised. He hadn't ever seen a Quidditch game before, much less played one, but Sirius had managed to pique his interest in the sport with his many stories about Harry's father and his Quidditch skills. "Why?"

But Ron had already turned back to Hermione. "See, even Danny's going!"

"Ron, I've told you, I don't want to go."

"Would you watch if you knew someone playing?"

"Maybe, but I don't so that's beside the point," said Hermione.

"But you know Fred and George, and they're playing," Ron said.

"I know them as your brothers, and they know me as your friend. That's hardly going to persuade me, Ron."

Since the fight had cooled down again, Harry tuned them out and turned to Parvati, who was sitting beside him. "Hey, Parvati."

"Hey, Danny," Parvati replied. "Are you going to the game?" She sounded excited - she, like everyone else, had been infected with Quidditch-pitch fever.

"Yes," said Harry. "You, too?"

"Of course," Parvati said. "Did you hear who's playing Seeker? Oliver Wood - he's the captain - only found some a week or two ago, apparently."

"No," said Harry curiously. "Who?"

"A second year called Cormac McLaggen," Parvati told him. "Do you know him?"

"No," said Harry.

"Lavender asked around about him. People are saying he thinks a lot of himself, and that he can be a prat sometimes, but he's an okay Seeker. He wants to play Keeper, though," Parvati told him.

"Keeper?" asked Harry. "But Wood plays Keeper."

Parvati shrugged. "Well, that's what people are saying." Harry hid a grin; Parvati was a gossip, everyone knew that, and she seemed better at it than most. He wasn't sure it was a skill to be commended or not.

"How good is he, at Seeker?" Harry asked.

"He's all right," said Parvati. "Lavender and I watched the Quidditch team practice yesterday. But Wood seems to think he needs to be better - way better - than he is."

"Where is Lavender?" said Harry, just realising that she wasn't there.

"Down at the pitch already," said Parvati. "At least a third of the school's already down there. But I wanted breakfast."

Harry felt someone put their hand on his shoulder and spin him round, and he tensed, only just managing to resist the urge to jerk away and stumble backwards, away from whoever had snuck up on him. But it was just Ron, and he forced himself to relax, though his heart was racing. His paranoid instincts might keep him safe - but he was at school now, and he wasn't in any danger.

Well, there was the troll. But that was hardly normal for Hogwarts.

"Danny, guess what!" said Ron jubilantly. "I persuaded Hermione to go! I did it!"

"What - how?" asked Harry, glancing between Hermione and Ron.

Hermione crossed her arms and she had a smug expression on. "I made him promise to do all his homework for the next week - _including _Professor Snape's essay - by himself, in the library, without my help."

Ron deflated a little. "Well, I got you to come, at least," he said.

"Just this game, mind," said Hermione. "I'm not going to any of the others."

"Unless you enjoy this one," said Ron. "Besides, you only have to go to the Gryffindor games. There are two more this year."

"Good luck persuading her to go to those," Harry muttered.

"Come on," said Ron, not hearing Harry, "let's go out to the pitch. Dean and Seamus are there already, and I bet most of the good seats have been taken."

* * *

The Quidditch game went perfectly normally until the stand Harry was in collapsed.

The score was forty-twenty to Gryffindor, but neither of the Seekers had come near the Snitch. It had been sighted twice, but due to an unlucky combination of Bludgers, poor Seeker skill, Marcus Flint and the Weasley twins, it had escaped each time. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were shouting themselves hoarse. Lee Jordan, who was commentating, was trying to get away with his bias towards Gryffindor, but Professor McGonagall would have none of it, to the amusement of the crowd.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had seats in the front of their stand. Ron had wanted to sit in the back, but that row was already full by the time they got there. Harry had never felt so exhilarated in his life than he did while watching Quidditch. A small part of him wanted to go to Wood after the game was over and try out for Seeker - McLaggen wasn't doing a very good job, and he might make it onto the team if he had even half his father's talent - but he knew he couldn't. Maybe in his later years, but for now, it would attract far too much attention. Besides, it was unheard of. No one made a first year a Seeker.

He thrust the dream to the side, and tried to focus on the match. This was the first game he'd seen, ever, despite hearing about the game since before he could remember. Harry was determined to enjoy it, and to remember as much as he could so he could tell Sirius everything.

Gryffindor scored again, bringing the score to fifty-ten, and both Seekers lost the Snitch again. Harry saw both captains fly past the Seekers and shout something at them - probably something none too complimentary. The Gryffindors had been worried about their new Seeker, but the Slytherin's Seeker was about as bad. The only problem was that McLaggen was a prat, and he seemed to think he knew better than the captain did.

"Flint passes the Quaffle to Slytherin Chaser Pucey - and he's tearing down the pitch there, look at him go, dodges Chasers Spinnet and Johnson - someone hit a Bludger at him - joking, Professor, mostly joking - he's reached the hoops now, save Wood, save -" Lee Jordan was saying, and there was a cheer from the Slytherin end as Pucey scored. The Gryffindors booed loudly.

"When is this game going to end?" asked Hermione impatiently. "I could be in the library right now."

"Not if you want me to do my homework for the next week," Ron reminded her. Hermione scowled.

"I stand by what I said before. It's just a game."

"You can't tell me you're not enjoying it, at least a little bit," Ron said.

Hermione looked away and said nothing. Harry resisted the urge to chuckle. Hermione probably _was_ enjoying the game, but seeing as she'd been bribed to come in the first place, her pride wouldn't let her admit it.

"I thought so," said Ron, sounding satisfied.

That was when it happened.

Everyone in Harry's stand started in surprise as the stand started to shake and sway alarmingly. They heard a splintering noise before the stand jolted again, violently, spilling everyone off their seats onto the stand floor. Harry hit the floor awkwardly and winced, but it wouldn't leave more than a bruise.

Someone screamed. Around the Quidditch pitch, binocular lenses flashed in their direction, and Ron let out a stream of swear words that Hermione would have scolded him for, if she hadn't been too terrified to speak. The stand gave another great shudder, and more screams filled the air.

The teachers were hurrying down from their own stand and across the pitch with their wands out, but they wouldn't be fast enough. The Quidditch players were landing, or flying towards the stand. The splintering noise was growing louder.

"It's going to break!" Hermione screamed.

Harry could feel his own heart pounding with fear. This wasn't like the troll. Then, at least, he could see what he was facing and he could run away. But anyone who'd tried to run from the stand hadn't been able to keep their footing long enough before being sent sprawling to the ground. People were trying to crawl, but that wasn't working, either.

He had a brief, bizarre thought that if he died, the cause of death on his death certificate would have been much more impressive if the troll had killed him.

"Grab hold of something!" a second year cried.

Harry grabbed the seat he'd been in and clung on; beside him, Ron and Hermione did the same. He glanced around at the rest of the stand, catching sight of Lavender's chalk-white face, Neville's expression of terror, a pair of confused third-years who'd grabbed each other instead of something stable. The Quidditch game, which everyone had been looking forward to with excitement, turned out to be a nightmare.

The stand seemed to bend, and it started to tip over. The screams and cries of fear grew louder, and then they heard a dreadful snapping noise as the supports broke.

The top of the stand, where they were all seated, was sent plummeting through the air. Anyone who hadn't grabbed hold of something was thrown out of the stand, freefalling towards the ground. The teachers managed to slow their falls and the Quidditch players managed to catch some of them before they hit the ground.

The stand's fall was slowing - some of the teachers must be working on it - but not slowing enough. It was still falling fast enough to seriously injure anyone still in it when it struck the ground. Harry closed his eyes, trying to block out Hermione's screams and Ron's yells.

The fall was getting slower, slower, then - WHAM.

The stand hit the ground, and pain exploded in the back of Harry's head like a firework. Then he felt himself slipping, fading, into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Albus, I am telling you, someone did that on purpose! For some reason, a member of your staff wants the first, second, and third year Gryffindors dead!" Severus would admit this was a fantasy that often came into his own mind, but he would never actually follow through with it.

"Severus," said Albus forlornly, "there is no proof. Even if there was, we would be no closer to discovering who was behind it."

Severus stopped his pacing around Dumbledore's office to fix him with a glare. Albus could not really be so blind as to think that. "A Quidditch stand just collapsed for absolutely no reason at all, Albus. You think this is a coincidence?"

"Is there anything that suggests otherwise? Why would someone try to kill the lower year Gryffindors? Even if you convince anyone else of this, Severus, the only person with a grudge against them is yourself." Albus met his eyes. "And you are too valuable to be taken to Azkaban."

"They wouldn't be able to prove anything," said Severus, but there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind now.

"And that is the point, Severus. No one can prove anything. I do believe you. But I don't have any evidence, of anything, and the only thing that points to this being nothing but a freak accident is that common sense tells us otherwise."

Severus growled. "Albus, you cannot be saying you are going to sit back and do nothing!"

"I am not," Albus replied. "I am merely pointing out that it this is to be investigated, it cannot be done in the open."

"So what _are_ you suggesting?" snapped Severus. "What would you have me do? Use legilimency on every teacher and student until I find something of use?"

Albus raised an eyebrow. "You think it is possible a student was behind this?"

"Anything is possible," said Severus. "Besides, we are fumbling in the dark. A student, at least, would have the motivation for it."

"You know more than anyone that killing someone is not easy, Severus. No, I do not believe a student could have done something like this. They might have the motivation, but not the strength of mind or soul to carry it out," Dumbledore said.

"Perhaps they never meant to kill anyone? None of the students are dead, are they?" Severus asked, his lips thinning.

"Half of them are still in the hospital wing, Severus."

"It has been only a day. Very few of them a seriously injured."

"And we have you to thank for that, I believe. You put a lot of energy behind your slowing spell."

"It was still not enough, Albus!" Severus said.

"Whoever did this was very magically powerful. The stand showed no signs of collapsing until that moment?" asked Albus.

"None," said Severus. "So that, if anything, rules out the possibility of it being a student. Therefore one of your professors is trying to kill a group of students, for whatever reason."

"It is always possible they were trying to kill just one student, and the others were merely caught up in it all, Severus. And as you have said - perhaps they were not trying to kill anyone, only injure, though I cannot think why they would do that."

"We know nothing about this at all, Albus, so we cannot draw any conclusions. Which brings us back to this. What would you have me do?" asked Severus.

"Have any of the professors acted strangely? Have any students been antagonising any of them? You must watch, Severus. That is what I would have you do. Watch them, and report anything strange to me," said Albus.

"You want me to spy," said Severus flatly. "You realise that many of the teachers will not stand my presence, that the barely do so in meeting? Minerva and Pomona are especially averse to anyone who associates with you outside of anything school-related. They will not _let_ me watch."

Albus looked mournful again. Minerva's defection from the Order of the Phoenix had shaken him more than he had ever wanted to admit, but Severus had seen it. She had been Albus' protégé before going off on her own, always fiercely loyal to him and by his side. Until the schism, when she became one of his most vocal opponents. It had been almost ten years, but Albus had never really gotten over it. And whatever he said, Severus knew he still held out on the hope that she would return to him.

"Be discreet, then," said Albus. "Do not let them know what you are doing. Do you suspect Quirrell again, Severus?"

It had occurred to him. "There is no proof this event is connected to the stone, Albus. These could be two completely unrelated incidents. Though how you expect me to watch Quirrell every moment of the day and still spy on the other teachers as well is beyond me."

"I'm sure you'll manage," said Albus. "Be sure to make this a priority, though. Quirrell can wait. He will not move against the stone unless he feels he has an opportunity to do so, and even then he would have to get past the protections."

"Very well," said Severus. He was quite used to being Albus' eyes and ears by now, and though there were days when he resented it, he had become resigned to it after a while. With the war over - at least the physical war - he was no longer a spy on the Death Eaters, but he still had the skills, and he was still useful to Albus. And much as it pained him to admit it, he was in Albus' debt. "I shall watch them all, then. Do not expect me to find much."

"I have complete faith in you," said Albus sincerely. "You will find more than you think, I am sure. And not necessarily just about the teachers."

Ah. There it was. "You think that I may also be able to uncover information about the Horcruxes," said Severus. "You believe that after ten years, I might find something _now_?"

"Severus, we will find something eventually. After ten years, why not now? Things are stirring again. The stone was almost successfully stolen from Gringotts and the perpetuator was not caught. The Death Eaters are possibly behind that - and they may have a mole in our school."

"That does not necessarily link to the Horcrux crisis, Albus."

"If our side is involved in this, and Voldemort's, then surely the third side would want a finger in the pie - so to speak? They are at least aware of what is happening at the school," Albus replied.

"Maybe," Severus admitted, "but we don't know anything for sure yet."

"Then go, Severus, and uncover it," said Albus. Severus nodded, and swept from the room.

* * *

Harry was beginning to hate the hospital wing. At least he was dismissed earlier than most of the people caught up in the accident, having just been knocked on the head. Madam Pomfrey was extremely busy, and anyone who didn't need serious medical attention had been briefly checked over and then sent out.

Ron and Hermione were also relatively unhurt, so the three of them left the hospital wing only a few hours after accident. In all the confusion, no one was really sure who had won the Quidditch game, as the Snitch hadn't been caught. a rematch had been scheduled for the next weekend, and Hermione insisted she would not be going.

"Why not?" asked Ron. "Technically, it's the same match, so you have to come watch."

"Sitting in the one stand that collapses hasn't built up my confidence in the safety of Quidditch, Ron," Hermione replied.

"They're going to double and triple check the stands for damage!" Ron protested.

Hermione stopped walking and turned on him. "But it wasn't an accident, Ron!"

Harry froze. "How was it not an accident?"

"I mean a stand does not just suddenly collapse like that! It wasn't even swaying before, and then suddenly there's a splintering noise and it's falling apart! Someone did that on purpose. Someone tried to kill us all," said Hermione.

Ron looked aghast. "What?"

"You heard," Hermione replied.

Harry felt his hand reaching up to his forehead to trace the hidden scar, and stopped it. No one could have found out, could they? That couldn't be why someone had tried to kill them. What other reason would they have, though? Did someone else in the stand have a scar, and been found out? But then wouldn't whoever found out just hand them over to the ministry?

No, that couldn't be the reason. It didn't make any sense. But why else would someone want to kill a group of lower-year Gryffindors? The only person with a grudge against them was Snape, and hard as he tried, Harry just couldn't picture him doing that.

Was there a reason the attack had come today? There must have been plenty of chances already to try to kill them - they'd been at school for two and a half months already. Why today? Because it was public, or because of something that had happened yesterday?

There were too many questions and not enough answers, Harry realised. He didn't know. He couldn't think of anything. But now that Hermione had drawn his attention to it, he couldn't believe he hadn't already figured out that this was deliberate.

"But why would someone try to kill a whole bunch of kids?" asked Ron. "What could they have against us?"

"If I knew, I'd already have told Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione. "I can't think of anything. Danny?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He leaned against the wall. "I just come up with more questions."

Hermione sighed. Ron was still pale. "Do you think they might try again?" Ron whispered.

That was a point. "I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "They might, I suppose."

Ron winced. "I wish you hadn't said that."

"You did ask," said Hermione.

"Hogwarts is supposed to be safe," said Ron, kicking the wall in frustration. "That's what Mum always said. But we've almost been killed twice already - and then there's the forbidden corridor, remember. No one knows what's there, but it's probably dangerous."

"What did Dumbledore say at the start-of-term feast? Something about a painful death?" said Harry.

"Definitely dangerous," said Ron. "This is insane. The troll was coincidence, probably, but think about all the odd stuff that's already happened. Some of it has to be connected."

"The troll might not be a coincidence," said Hermione. "Someone had to have let it in, after all. But us running into it probably was."

Harry had already had similar thoughts. "What if the same person let the troll in and collapsed the stand?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes widened. "But why?" she asked.

"We're back to the start again," said Ron. "This is getting us nowhere. I say we stay on our guard and avoid any life-threatening experiences for at least another month, because we've definitely had our fair share of them now. And more."

"I second that," said Hermione. "But I say we avoid them for the rest of the year."

"This is Hogwarts, Hermione. Something else life-threatening will turn up this year, almost certainly," Ron said.

"But when it does we _won't_ be in the middle of it," said Hermione firmly. "I want the rest of this year to be as normal as possible."

_Normal never works with me_, thought Harry. "Good luck with that," he muttered. "I just want to stay out of the hospital wing."

"Somehow, I doubt that one will work too," said Ron. "You'll end up back in there before long."

Harry shrugged. "I can hope."


	13. Dredging Up Ancient History

I apologise for a late update, but school ate my life far more than anticipated. But it's the weekend now, so updates will hopefully be faster!

This chapter had to be split in two, it was getting so long. And it is entirely Minerva McGonagall's fault. So this one doesn't have much happening in it, but there's a lot of backstory in it. The part where stuff actually happens was the second part, but as I've said, it was getting too long. Sorry about that.

Anyway, please enjoy, and I'm sorry it's been almost five days now.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Dredging Up Ancient History**

It was Sirius who speculated that there might be a connection between Harry asking Quirrell about Tom Riddle and the collapse of the Quidditch stand. Harry had written to his godfather as soon as he got back to Gryffindor Tower, telling him about the Quidditch stand, Tom Riddle, and every other unusual and unexplained event that had happened so far. Sirius' reply had been full of concern, and while at first Harry dismissed the connections he drew between the events as far-fetched, it didn't take him long to realise that it was possible Sirius was right.

While it was not easy to imagine that Quirrell had let the troll in, that Quirrell had collapsed the Quidditch stand because Harry had been in it, and that Tom Riddle was some accomplice, perhaps a Death Eater, who had been sneaked into the school under the headmaster's nose, it was certainly not impossible. Nor was it impossible that they had been the ones who almost stole something from Gringotts, and that the item was hidden on the third floor and protected by something dangerous. But Harry found it difficult to believe that.

Quirrell did not seem like Death Eater material. He stuttered, he was always nervous, and he didn't appear to have a particular gift at magic. But there were strange things about the professor - Tom Riddle, for instance, and the look Quirrell had given Harry after he asked about the mysterious name on the Marauder's Map. It didn't add up, and it put Harry on edge. He felt like he was blundering around blind, unsure of anything around him.

So a week into December Harry decided to take some of the advice Sirius had given him and ask one of the ghosts about the elusive Tom Riddle. If they knew nothing, then either Tom Riddle hadn't gone to Hogwarts, or he was just a pet after all and everything else was coincidence. Harry hoped it would be the latter, but he knew it was a naive hope.

There was the matter, of course, of which ghost to ask. Harry's first instinct was Nearly Headless Nick. This was for the simple reason that he didn't know any of the other ghosts. However, that wasn't to say he truly knew Nick. The ghost had pointed him the right way to classes, and talked occasionally with him while he ate breakfast, but that wasn't quite the same.

If he wanted to finally figure out who Tom Riddle was, though, he didn't have a choice.

So at breakfast the next morning, Harry deliberately took the seat next to where Nearly Headless Nick was floating, ignoring Ron and Hermione's curious looks and helping himself to toast. When most of the first years seemed occupied in conversation, Harry decided to broach the subject.

"Nick," he said, "Was there ever a student here called Tom Riddle?"

Nick blinked, looking startled. "Well, that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Where did you hear that?"

Harry tried to think of a believable lie, but since he knew nothing about Tom Riddle, he couldn't think of anything. Luckily, Nick came up with his own explanation.

"Oh, of course, you'd have seen his award. For special services to the school. Not many first years visit the trophy room unless they have detention, though," said Nick, looking at Harry in a way that requested a clarification.

"I was curious," said Harry. "What did he get his award for?" From what Nick had said, Harry gathered that Tom Riddle _had_ attended Hogwarts. But an award for special services? What did he get that for? And was he a Death Eater?

Nearly Headless Nick looked awkward. "Well - er - we aren't supposed to talk about it. Awful business. Headmaster Dippet didn't want it being spread around. It wasn't anything much."

That last part was a lie, Harry knew. "If it wasn't anything much, why did he get such a prestigious award?" asked Harry. He was now very curious about Riddle. Whatever Nick wasn't telling him, it was important.

Nick looked even more awkward, shifting slightly in the air and casting glances further down the table as if he wanted to move away. "That is to say - it was nothing of _great_ importance. Or if it was, Headmaster Dippet did not want us to tell anyone."

Harry wanted to point out that Dippet was dead, but since Nick was also dead, he thought this might be somewhat tactless. "Well, what _can_ you tell me about Riddle?" he asked. "You don't have to tell me about his award."

The ghost looked relieved. "Very well. Tom Riddle was a student here, but he left almost fifty years ago. He was a half-blood who grew up in a muggle orphanage, and he was sorted into Slytherin."

"Slytherin?" said Harry, checking. Of course, not all Slytherins were Death Eaters, and not all Death Eaters were Slytherins - but Voldemort had been a Slytherin, and a great deal more Death Eaters came from that house than the others.

"Yes," said Nearly Headless Nick. "He was a brilliant student, from what I remember, a truly charming boy." Nick frowned. "And then he disappeared."

Harry started in shock. "He _disappeared_? Why? When?"

"Sometime after he left school," said Nick. "He came here when Professor Dumbledore was made headmaster, asking for a job as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. For whatever reason, he didn't get it. I haven't heard anything about him since."

"Nothing?" asked Harry.

"No one knew where he had gone. It wasn't the first time he'd disappeared, either. But he look... different, when he came back. Of course, he was older, but there was something more..." Nick trailed off. "I haven't thought about him in years. I wonder what exactly happened to him."

Harry's mind was spinning. Tom Riddle had disappeared, years ago, and now he was at Hogwarts. He had something to do with Quirrell, but what, Harry didn't know. Everything seemed to be pointing to Sirius' theory being correct - that Quirrell had collapsed the stand to kill Harry, because Harry knew about Riddle.

There was still no solid proof, but what there was put the whole situation in a completely different light.

The idea of telling Ron and Hermione had crossed his mind, but he had dismissed it almost immediately. Ron and Hermione were his friends, yes, and they had fought a troll together. They had shown they were capable, and could hold their own in a fight. They had also shown that they cared about him.

But that didn't make them trustworthy. He could not be sure they wouldn't turn on him if they knew who he was. Hermione had idolised Dumbledore, at least until the train ride, and as far as he knew, she still admired and respected him. He didn't know which side she had taken because he tried to avoid the subject as much as possible. True, it was equally probable her idolisation had turned into repulsion - but he didn't know for sure.

Ron had probably taken the same view as the rest of his family, but what that view was, Harry didn't know. Whenever the topic of the horcruxes had come up - which was often at breakfast when the morning paper arrived, with Rita Skeeter giving some update about a false alarm or the revealing of someone's loyalties - Ron hadn't really participated. Such matters were more Lavender and Parvati's ground. Harry knew that while Lavender and Parvati read the _Daily Prophet_ from cover to cover, Ron barely skimmed the headlines. He probably didn't actually know much about the issue at all.

Even if they weren't on Dumbledore's side, Harry reflected, he still might not trust them. He found it hard to trust anyone. The only person who he'd ever let in close was Sirius, who was the only person he knew for certain would never turn on him. Until he knew that about Ron and Hermione, he couldn't tell them.

Nearly Headless Nick drifted off as they got up from the table to go to class. Harry found it hard to concentrate. He was distracted by the new information he'd obtained from the Gryffindor ghost, and he was so preoccupied he hardly noticed when his potion turned blue instead of green and Snape took ten points from Gryffindor.

"Are you all right, Danny?" asked Hermione, when they were leaving the dungeons to go to Transfiguration. "You seem a little... distant."

"Fine," said Harry. "Just thinking."

"About what?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Nothing important." Hermione frowned, looking as though she wanted to say something, but they had reached the classroom and Professor McGonagall was waiting inside, so they took their seats.

Before the lesson began, Professor McGonagall went around taking names for those staying at the castle for the Christmas holidays. Harry was initially undecided, but when he heard Ron would be staying and Hermione would not, he decided to stay to keep Ron company. Sirius had told him in his last letter that he was fine either way, and that Harry should spend at least one Christmas at Hogwarts, but he still did not like the idea of leaving Sirius alone for the holiday.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall watched the Gryffindors file out of class towards the Great Hall for lunch. There were few of them this year, just eight new first years, and she knew the reason why. They had been born during the darkest part of the war - and few parents had wanted to bring a child into a world battling with darkness. But the first year Gryffindors had seemed to bond closer than normal because of it - something she wouldn't have expected, given how different they all were.

The three girls, for instance. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were similar, but Hermione Granger was their complete opposite. Lavender and Parvati were gossips, but Hermione didn't care for things like that. Lavender and Parvati also were far more willing to takes someone's word as completely true, whereas Hermione didn't like assumptions. Hermione studied and paid attention in class; Lavender and Parvati talked and giggled.

But Lavender and Parvati were not exactly the same, either. Lavender was flightier, a girl with big dreams, and she was more sensitive. Parvati was more practical, and stoic; she had a harder exterior and was more likely to stick up for herself or someone else. Which was not to say Lavender wouldn't, but she was the sort to do it for a friend, while Parvati would do it on principle.

The five new boys were also different, but not quite so opposite as the girls. Ron Weasley, however, was difficult to understand. He had gone from contempt and disdain for Hermione to tolerance and friendship, even if they did bicker. The two were so opposite Minerva doubted they would have become friends were it not for the troll. Maybe they would have learnt to bear each other, but they wouldn't have become so close.

Then there was the third member of their little trio, the one who was most often overlooked. Danny Lewis was modest, and kept to the shadows. He always seemed to be on the sideline, never directly involved - like in the incident during Flying class, for instance - and he never drew attention to himself. He answered questions when called on, but didn't raise his hand, and his marks were always decidedly average, as though he was holding back. He was good at going unnoticed, and often she found her eyes skipping over him when she looked over the class, as he kept his head lowered and sat close to the wall. Perhaps he was just shy, but it felt like there was more to it than that.

Neville Longbottom often seemed the odd one out, drifting somewhere between Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, and Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Danny Lewis. The boy _was_ clumsy, easily upset, and forgetful, but Minerva knew if he would have more faith in himself (and perhaps not take his grandmother's words to heart) he would make great improvements. Neville was naturally a very kind person, always polite and compassionate, and as such, the others seemed to be very protective of him.

Seamus Finnigan was similar to Ron Weasley with his hot-headedness and his temper, which was often aroused when he felt someone had done him or another Gryffindor a serious injustice. But he was surer of himself than Ron was, more likely to laugh at the little things than make a joke about them and laugh at that. His knack for rubbing people the wrong way, though, would get him into trouble someday.

Dean Thomas was quieter than Seamus was, but the two seemed inseparable. It often seemed to be left to Dean to smooth things over when Seamus ruffled anyone's feathers. He appeared to be somewhat reliant on the other boy, since he was muggleborn and Seamus had taken it upon himself to explain things to him. Dean, however, was not someone easily swayed, and from what Minerva had heard, still preferred 'football' over Quidditch - the one source of an argument between the two.

Minerva sighed, picking up the pile of essays the class had handed in and neatening it, keeping her eye off Albus' latest letter. Though she had told him to stop pestering her, he kept sending them, as though hoping she would one day turn around and rejoin his side.

She had stopped talking to him the moment she defected - apart from one loud argument - and had kept that up for a few years. Beyond that, she spoke only coolly and formally, with none of the familiarity that had once been between them. Albus had been ecstatic at first, that she was speaking to him again, but she soon found that her acting as though they were strangers hurt him more than her completely ignoring him.

Once Albus had realised that she wasn't going to discuss anything besides small talk and school with him, he had begun sending letters. They were all carefully composed, polite and calm, written in the familiar loopy writing. Minerva's first reply ignored everything in the letter and simply told him it was not right for him to finish with 'Your friend' as they were no longer even allies.

A low blow, perhaps. But it was truthful, at least from her point of view, and until he started sending letters more formally she did not reply again. His next few seemed to be him trying to repair things between them, but she was adamant - they had parted ways. After several months of receiving letters like this, she stated bluntly that repairing their friendship was impossible.

It had hurt to see Albus fall from the high pedestal many put him on. The revelation that came with Rita Skeeter's first article about the horcruxes had been shattering. But Minerva was a person who put her principles before her goals, and though she had said, many times before, that she would do anything to defeat You-Know-Who, she had found that there was a moral line. A line that should not have been crossed.

But it had been, and the ministry had taken Albus' side. So Minerva parted from him, taking her own side and not his for the first time since she had been a little girl, ten years old and excited to start Hogwarts, and had read in the newspaper about Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald. She had idolised him, she realised now, and thought he could do no wrong. Those days were behind her, now.

Setting down the essays, she could find no excuse to put it off any longer, and she picked up Albus' letter, sliding her finger under the wax seal on the envelope and slipping out the letter. It was written in his usual green ink, on heavy yellow parchment. Minerva could almost pretend it was a school letter, sent to some misbehaving student, except the wax had not been sealed with the Hogwarts crest, but rather the seal of the Order of the Phoenix.

She would have to tell him to use a more appropriate seal in her reply. Minerva was no longer part of the Order, and had not been for ten years. Albus knew that. Perhaps his choice in seal was deliberate; but if it was, she was determined not to fall for his mind games.

_Minerva,_ it read.

_Your reply to my last letter asked me to stop pestering you. I am sorry, but this is a matter of great importance, as I am sure you are aware. The Horcrux Crisis is a terrible tragedy, but measures must be taken and sacrifices must be made. You fought in the first war, Minerva; you know this is true._

_Can you imagine, Minerva, what it would be like if Voldemort were to rise again? More lives than just six would be lost. For him to be defeated, the horcruxes must be destroyed. You know this, yet you deny it. What happened to the brilliant pupil I once taught, the young woman who understood the nature of war and the idea of a greater purpose? You were my protégé, Minerva. I taught you all I could, and you became one of our best fighters, one of our greatest assets._

_Not through magical skill, though you had plenty of that, nor through cunning or courage. It was simply that you __knew__, Minerva. You knew what we were facing, you understood what must be done. Some of the other Order of the Phoenix members shied away from a kill, afraid of the damage it would wreck on their souls, or refused to take a life because of some notion of honour._

_You understood second chances, Minerva, but you also understood a lost cause, and you were not afraid to cast a spell that would end someone's life. Few of the others could do that to anyone, Voldemort excepted. But I feel they did not see him as human anymore and that taking his life would not harm their souls or breach their moral codes._

_In war, there must be no misplaced sense of honour. Many people on our own side eventually realised this, and from then the war became darker, as our own side began using Unforgivables and the Dark Arts. I do not fault them for it; it was necessary. You understood that, too, quicker than the others._

_But my point is this, Minerva: the war is not over. We knew it wouldn't be over until Voldemort was defeated. For two months after he lost his powers, we believed he had been. We know now that we were wrong. He can rise again, and his followers attempt to make this happen. The Order tries to thwart these attempts._

_Minerva, you were a member of the Order. Your place is with us, continuing the fight against Voldemort and doing whatever it takes. Yes, the six children bearing lightning scars must die. It is not something we can avoid. Bellatrix Lestrange did an appalling thing, but we must live with its effects. The children are horcruxes and Voldemort's soul in entwined with their own souls. The only way to destroy Voldemort is to destroy the vessel. You know this, Minerva._

_Would you stand by and let him rise? Would you watch, knowing what you fought for allowed this to happen; knowing that each life he took could have been saved? Minerva, this is not you. This is not the woman I once knew. Come to your senses. You had always been willing before to make the ultimate sacrifice to defeat him, and you were willing to do anything that would stop him._

_Where has that gone? Why are you now not willing to make the sacrifice? You have made this harder on yourself, Minerva; you are getting to know the children in your classes, knowing that some of them are keeping Voldemort alive. If you had joined me before - if you had never left - perhaps we could have located them by now. You would not have to go through the pain of a child you knew dying._

_I watch them, from the staff table. It breaks my heart to think of what some of them are, and what must happen to them. But it must, Minerva. I plead that you will understand. Severus insistently tells me you are a lost cause, and that you will never realise you are in the wrong. But he does not know you as anything more than his colleague, and once his professor. I know you better than that._

_His reports on student behaviour are not as useful as I would like, as he is blinded by prejudice. You see with a clear eye, Minerva. I need you. Please, tell me about the students._

_As you will be aware, intelligent as you are, there are hostile forces in and around Hogwarts, threatening her. The Philosopher's Stone is kept safe, but already attempts have been made to take it (headed off by Severus, but it pains me to think you used to be the one to do that). The collapse of the Quidditch stand was not an accident, nor was the troll. Someone means the students harm, and perhaps that same someone is after the stone._

_The Second War is beginning, Minerva, though the first never truly ended. I can feel it rising, and soon the storm will break. Where will you stand, Minerva? On whose side? Mine, or Voldemort's? You were never the sort to remain neutral, and I know, at least, that that much hasn't changed._

_Think on it, Minerva. Not a day passes when I don't wish for your companionship again, the knowledge that you were at my side and always will be, the trust and friendship we shared. It can happen again. Come back, please._

_In hope, and faith,_

_Albus_

Minerva frowned, pursing her lips. Loath as she was to admit it, some of what Albus said struck blows. But it was clear his opinion hadn't changed on the Horcrux Crisis; until it did, she could not be on his side.

She was obviously incensed that he could even _suggest_ that she was on You-Know-Who's side, but it wasn't as though he hadn't been hinting that for years. Albus' problem was that he divided the world in three - those on his side, those on You-Know-Who's, and those who had nothing to do with the war. But it wasn't that simple. There were more than three sides. Maybe one day, he would realise that.

She knew Albus would have Severus investigating his suspicions about the hostile forces, and he wasn't wrong when he said the Second War was beginning. Minerva could feel it, too, as though every breath drew it closer. Albus was obviously beginning to feel strained: the time he had to find the horcruxes was growing shorter, though how quickly, no one knew.

He also wasn't wrong when he said Minerva had changed. But while he seemed to think she had been blinded, in reality, she had become disillusioned. She had drawn a line and stuck to her principles. Though she had done many things during the war that she would not have done in peacetime, things she sometimes doubted were right, she would never - _ever_ - let anyone who had not chosen to be part of the war get hurt.

She rummaged around in her desk and found an envelope, parchment, and ink, and picking up a quill she began to compose her reply. Nothing long and confusing, and no mind games - something short and to the point, the exact opposite of Albus' letter. And, of course, she would ignore most of his questions as normal, and address only certain parts of what he had written.

_Albus,_

_I ask, again, that you desist in sending me letters such as these. I can remember the war perfectly well, and what I did during it. Being reminded of it does not improve my mood. Nor does being asked to alter my principles. If you truly think you know me, then you know that I am stubborn, and I shall not be persuaded. Please, do not ask me to abandon my morals. It is difficult enough that you have done so yourself._

_On another note, I must ask that you use a different seal on your letters. I have no affiliation with the Order of the Phoenix and I doubt I ever will again._

_Minerva_

There. That was enough. Albus would try to find meaning in between the lines of her letter, but there was none: she meant exactly what she said. She folded up the letter and placed it inside the envelope, sealing it with wax and using her personal seal - the McGonagall family crest - to seal it.

Albus could try to play puppet master all he liked. Severus might still be loyal to him, but Minerva, Pomona, and Filius had cut their ties. There were days when Minerva just sat, with her head in her hands, wishing things were different. There were days when she raged and stormed, and days when she didn't say a word.

Those days were ending. The storm was brewing. Minerva would meet it when it hit, her head held high and her conscience clear.

_If there must be another war, so be it. But I shall not be anyone's puppet._


	14. Deepest Desire

Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited, and especially those who have reviewed!

Since several people have asked: No, Dumbledore did not collapse the Quidditch stand. If anyone has further questions about this or any other part of the story, feel free to ask so I can explain fully.

A slightly shorter chapter this time, since it was meant to be part of the last one. But with this one, we officially pass the 60k mark!

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**Chapter Thirteen: Deepest Desire**

As quietly as he tried to walk, Harry could still hear his own footsteps echo softly in the tall stone corridors, the sound bouncing off the floor and walls, setting his heart on edge. If someone heard him, he was dead. Well, perhaps not dead, but in very deep trouble.

The stone statues and the suits of armour threw strange shadows onto the floor, slightly unnerving him, but he was grateful they did. Harry wished he had his father's invisibility cloak, which Sirius had told so many tales about, or at least the Marauder's Map. Since he didn't have either, slipping from shadow to shadow was the best way to stay hidden.

He probably should have investigated the third floor corridor before now, but the warning of a painful death at the start of term feast had been enough to keep him away, as had the thought of what would happen if he were caught. But since his conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, he had decided he needed to try to connect things, and sort out what was coincidence and what wasn't.

The Christmas break, when most people were away from the castle, was the best time to sneak around at night. He'd had to wait a few weeks until the break started, but better safe than sorry. He couldn't risk running into someone.

_Sometimes I wish Hogwarts wasn't so big, _thought Harry, ducking behind a suit of armour as one of the ghosts drifted past. _But then it wouldn't be Hogwarts, I suppose._ All the same, it had already taken him close to twenty minutes to get anywhere near the third floor corridor. He'd have gone faster if he hadn't had to sneak.

Part of the problem was that even with most of the students away on Christmas break, the rest asleep, and most of the teachers too, there were still the portraits, the ghosts, and the few prowling teachers to avoid. Also, the house-elves came out to clean at night, and Harry had spotted a couple already scrubbing at the stonework and dusting the statues. Hogwarts never seemed to sleep.

He felt a little guilty about keeping something from Ron again, but he couldn't take him with him this time. Ron would have jumped at the chance, but Harry wasn't sure about how stealthy he would be. If Hermione had been at Hogwarts for Christmas, Harry doubted he'd have taken her. She probably would have tried to stop him.

Harry stepped out from behind the suit of armour once he was sure the ghost had left, crept around the last corner and approached the door to the third floor corridor. He had to swallow his fear as he tried to open it, pushing aside images of huge blades swinging out to cut him in half, or a violent spell that could send him flying through the wall. He tugged, but the door was either locked or stuck.

Figuring that locked was more likely, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the lock on the heavy wooden door. "_Alohomora,_" he whispered, glancing back behind him to check no one had heard. The whisper seemed to hang in the air, but the lock clicked open.

He put away his wand, slowly pulled the door open about two feet while praying it wouldn't creak, and peered around the door to see into the corridor. Harry's eyes stretched wide and he felt his face draining of colour when he saw what was in the room. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this.

An enormous, black, three-headed dog, almost taller than the corridor itself, stood there, growling as the small amount of light came through the open door. It's paws were as big as a muggle car, and it's legs like tree trunks. The dog bared it's teeth and Harry had to swallow a cry of fear: they were enormous, each tooth surely longer than his arm. All six eyes were fixed on him, and it seemed to be crouching low, preparing to -

_Pounce,_ Harry realised, and he scrambled backwards as the dog let out a loud snral and leapt for him, narrowly missing bashing it's head on the roof of the corridor. He slammed the door, not caring about the noise any longer, and backed away into the wall before panic completely overtook him and he ran. He ran through the corridors, terrified that the dog would somehow get through the door, or that one of the professors had heard and was coming after him. The shadows and ghosts made the castle seem eerie, and he didn't stop running until he could no longer hear the dog.

Harry leaned against the wall, panting, and felt ashamed of the terror that had kept him going only seconds before. He'd been in plenty of bad situations before, though admittedly, a three-headed dog was something new.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He couldn't think clearly, not when he was panicking.

So that was what Dumbledore had meant by a 'most painful death'. Harry shivered slightly, imagining the dog's enormous teeth, slavering jaws and bright, mad eyes. _What in Merlin's name is something like that doing in a school?_ he wondered.

Well, he'd speculated before that something might be being kept hidden on the third floor corridor. Maybe the dog was a protection for it. Harry couldn't imagine anyone but an enormously powerful wizard being able to get past the dog, and that was probably only one protection. Whatever was down there must be very valuable - or dangerous.

How was he supposed to tell Sirius about this? It wasn't exactly something he could put in writing if his letter was intercepted. Of course, there wasn't any particular reason why someone would want to read _his_ mail, but he'd learnt the hard way that you could never be too careful. He'd told Sirius about all the strange things that had happened in such a cryptic way he was surprised Sirius had been able to decipher his meaning from it.

Harry glanced around, realising he wasn't entirely sure where he was. He pulled himself off the wall and walked slowly down the corridor, hoping to see something he recognised. But in the dark, he couldn't quite make out the portraits and statues that would tell him where he was.

He made a mental note that next time he dashed blindly through the castle, he'd try to keep track of where he was going.

"The first step to finding out where you are is finding out where you aren't," Harry muttered, repeating one of Sirius' old lessons to himself. It helped him to relax more, remembering lessons he'd learnt by rote. The ones he'd learnt the hard way weren't quite so calming.

Harry knew he wasn't on the third floor anymore. And if he wasn't anywhere he recognised, that ruled out most of the corridors from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower. He stepped over to a window and looked out, trying to judge which floor he was on. He distinctly remembered going both up and down flights of stairs, but as he pressed his nose against the glass and counted the windows below him, he estimated that he was on either the fourth or the fifth floor.

He peeled himself away from the window and took a few steps down the corridor - hoping to come across a staircase - when something flickered in the corner of his eye. Harry twisted to see a light coming from behind him down the corridor, getting brighter and reaching further every second.

His heart started thumping loudly again. It was a light from a candle or lantern - which meant the person carrying it was Filch or one of the patrolling professors. With no desire to run into either, Harry flattened himself against the wall and hastened around the corner, eyes flicking wildly from one place to the next to find some way out.

Had whoever it was heard him before? Or were they just patrolling? Harry didn't know, but if they caught up with him, he'd be in detention before he could offer so much as a word of protest. And really, what would he say? He _was_ breaking the rules, and he doubted anyone would believe someone was trying to murder _him_ of all people.

He caught sight of a door that was slightly ajar and slipped through it, opening it slowly so that it didn't creak and shutting it carefully. Harry glanced around and realised he must be in a disused classroom. Desks were pushed against the walls and dust seemed to hang in the air. There was a sort of musty smell in the room, as though no one had been here for a long time - or as though it had been disturbed to recently the smell had yet to dissipate.

Leaning almost casually against the wall opposite him was something that immediately caught his attention, if only because it looked so out of place amongst the chairs and desks. A tall mirror stood there, casting a long, ghostly shadow in the dim lighting. It was large and pretentious-looking, with an inscription across the top wrought into the elegantly carved frame. It was not something that belonged in a disused classroom.

Half curious, half cautious, Harry walked slowly towards it. Even though the door would muffle any sound from reaching the corridor, he kept his footsteps soft and light, not wanting to disturb the ringing silence. Why was a mirror here, and who had left it? How long had it been here? Questions darted through his mind and Harry kept walking, knowing that they only way to answer them was to investigate.

Sirius had told him once that his curiosity would get him into dire trouble one day. He'd ruffled Harry's hair as he said it, though, not looking particularly grim or speaking with a solemn tone. As such, Harry hadn't taken the warning to seriously. It came back to him now, though, as he got close enough to the mirror to touch the frame and read the inscription -_ Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_.

His fingers traced the letters, seemingly carved into the frame of the mirror. What did it mean? Was it a code? Hermione would be able to figure it out; even if it were another language, she'd just look it up in the library. But she'd demand to know where he'd seen it, and Harry could just imagine her reaction if he told her he'd been out after curfew. Even if he wanted to tell her, he'd have to wait until Christmas break was over.

He shoved the thought to a corner of his mind, putting it aside to think about later, and looked at the mirror itself. A jolt of panic shot through him and he scrambled backwards, casting fearful glances over his shoulder. But no one was there: no one could see the mirror. No one could see what was shown there.

It wasn't him the mirror showed - well, it was. But it was him without the glamours, looking as he would if the wizarding world wasn't out for his blood. His father's messy black hair and thin face, and his mother's bright green, almond shaped eyed. Did this mirror reveal glamours? Warily, he stepped closer to the mirror again.

His reflection hadn't moved, even as he'd scrambled backwards and then moved closer again. Frowning, Harry reached out to the mirror, resting his fingers against the glass and staring at his reflection. The reflection lifted it's hand to his fringe and pulled it back, smiling.

There was no lightning scar.

The reflection's forehead didn't have a scar.

Harry lifted his own hand to his fringe and pulled it back, tracing the lightning bolt hidden beneath the glamours. It was still there, definitely. He felt a pang of disappointment, and then chastised himself for being foolish. It was stupid to hope that somehow his scar had disappeared, just because the mirror reflected him without it.

The mirror showed him as normal. A normal person, without the burden of being a horcrux, one who didn't need to hide under glamours or lie to his friends or pretend to be someone he wasn't. A boy who didn't have to hide, who was able to draw attention to himself, someone who wasn't painfully shy or overly paranoid. Someone who'd grown up like everyone else, with friends, a home, and a mother and father, instead of on the run with no one his own age for company.

In other words, the boy reflected there wasn't him. It was someone he could never be, but had always wanted to be.

He felt his knees shake slightly and he slid down until he was sitting on the cold stone floor, his fingers smearing the glass as they ran down it. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away. The boy in the mirror was smiling, laughing. In the background, a group of people looked on proudly. One had his eyes, another, his hair, and the third was the only person he trusted.

"Mum," he whispered. "Dad." Only a lifetime of conditioning stopped him speaking Sirius' name as well. He could hear the longing in his own voice as he spoke. His other hand rested on the glass, now, but he hadn't noticed, too caught up in the impossible image before him.

"_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_," he murmured, speaking it like an incantation. Whatever it meant, it was showing him something terribly wondrous, something he'd never even dreamed would be able to happen.

In a way, the presence of his parents in the mirror saddened him. It was proof that this mirror didn't show him anything possible, proof that it wasn't the future he was seeing. _No magic can reawaken the dead,_ he thought sorrowfully, flattening his palms against the glass, wishing he could just fall through it. Wishing he was the reflection, and that the other boy was the real one.

_It would be better if he's the real one,_ thought Harry. _Maybe in his mirror-world, Voldemort doesn't exist. Or maybe he's gone. _

_Or maybe,_ a rational little voice in his head said, _this is just a false image, and it isn't real anywhere._

Harry shoved that thought away. It _had _to be real! He _wanted_ it to be real. If it was just showing him something he wanted - something he wanted more than _anything_ - then it was just cruel. Who would make something like that? Something that reached into his heart and showed him his most desperate desire, but wouldn't give it to him, dangling it out of reach and seeming to taunting him with it.

As hard as he tried to push away the thought, it just came back. It was the most logical explanation. It made more sense than the idea of the mirror being some sort of window to another world, or a picture of the future. Feeling as though someone had dropped him into frigid water, Harry got to his feet and backed away from the mirror.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

It was a lie, a fake, a trick.

He clenched his fists and shut his eyes, fighting the urge to return to it, to stare into the mirror for a few more minutes, to just sit there and waste away, seeing his dream but unable to make it a reality. _Not real, not real, not real_, he chanted in his mind, taking a step back and finding himself against the door. _It's an illusion. Don't let it deceive you again._

His hand felt for the door handle and he pulled the door open, quickly stepping through it back out into the corridor. Harry shut the door and then opened his eyes, let his fists unclench, and took a deep breath.

He'd been enchanted by the mirror. It had shown him what he wanted most and he'd believed it could be true, believed that it could be possible. But it wasn't. It wasn't and now feelings of shame began washing over him. He'd _let_ himself be entranced by it, and even now he was half longing to go back, to sit in front of it again and never leave.

He took another deep breath, turned, and began the walk back to Gryffindor Tower. It had been an eventful night.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had not expected the first year boy to find the mirror. He had taken it out from underneath the third floor corridor to make some modifications to his spell, and had stored the mirror in a disused classroom to keep it away from the student body. Few of them were at Hogwarts over the Christmas break, but there were always some. He'd been most worried that the Weasley twins would find it.

But it hadn't been them. It had been a first year Gryffindor, one Albus knew by sight but not name. Luckily the child hadn't noticed that Albus was in the room, under a disillusionment charm, because it might have led to questions students weren't allowed to know the answers to.

Albus tried his best not to look in the mirror, knowing what a powerful effect it had on him. Seeing his family, whole and happy, still got to him, even after so many years of knowing it wouldn't happen. Ariana was dead. His mother and father were dead. Aberforth still despised him - and it had reached new heights after the Horcrux Crisis had begun. Albus knew his family couldn't be whole again.

And behind his family, he saw all who had left him once the crisis had begun. Minerva, Sirius, Pomona, and Remus were only a few of the faces. Some he did not even recognise. Another impossible dream, for all who had abandoned him to return.

Albus did not like being abandoned. That, more than anything, left a hole in his heart.

All the same, the boy's reaction to the mirror had been peculiar to say the least. Albus had expected the mirror to make the boy happy and contented. But he could see in the way the boy stared reverently into the reflection, enthralled by it, that what it showed him went beyond the normal first year dreams of glory and selfish desires. Whatever it showed him, it affected the child greatly.

But what was more surprising was that the boy had been able to pull himself away. Not because he was exhausted or because he wanted to show a friend, but for some other reason Albus couldn't puzzle out at first. All he knew was that after a few minutes, the boy had jerked away from the mirror, the look on his face a strange mix of shock, disappointment, betrayal, and despair. And then he'd closed his eyes, as though trying to block out whatever he'd seen from his memory.

Albus double checked his spells: there was nothing he could find that would have caused the boy to tear himself away from the Mirror of Erised. The only reason he managed to come up with was that the first year had realised what the mirror was doing to him, and had a strong enough will to force himself away.

But the child would have to be cautious, untrusting, strong willed, suspicious, and perceptive to do that. It was an extraordinary achievement for an eleven-year-old. Many grown adults would have had trouble pulling away if they were as entranced as the boy had been.

He removed the disillusionment charm and left the classroom, his work done for the night. However, his curiosity had been aroused. Who was the boy? What was his name, and where was he from? Albus couldn't fully figure out the mystery of the first year Gryffindor until he knew more details.

A memory surfaced before slipping away again, but his mind seized on it at once. Severus, telling him about three first year Gryffindors who'd managed to fight off a mountain troll - though Severus had put almost all of it down to luck. The memory led to another, of Poppy reciting the list of first, second, and third year Gryffindors who'd been caught up in the collapse of the Quidditch stand. Together with what he'd just seen, he realised that the first year Gryffindor boy had been involved in three of the most curious events that had happened during the year so far.

Perhaps it was coincidence. The children hadn't intended to fight the troll, of course, and he knew they couldn't be responsible for the disaster of the first Quidditch match. But, all the same, it was curious.

Albus hummed a carol as he walked through the corridors towards his office, having decided to view the memories in a pensieve. Perhaps he or Severus could unearth something, though the Potions Master had been rather unsuccessful in his investigations so far.

The next day would be Christmas, and Albus rather hoped he would be given information, or important news - and, of course, a pair of woollen socks.


	15. A Child With a Most Knowing Eye

Sorry this is so late! But my exams are all over now, so I should return to regular updates.

I don't like this chapter much. Nothing much seems to happen. The next on should be better, but I think this one is a bit boring. It's got some important stuff in it, though.

The title for this chapter comes from the poem 'Romance' by Edgar Allan Poe.

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**Chapter Fourteen: A Child with a Most Knowing Eye**

Harry should have known Ron would notice something was wrong. Imperceptive as his friend was, Ron wasn't completely ignorant. The fact that Harry had only been picking at his food for days, that he'd barely spoken, and that he seemed to have a permanently downcast expression on had not passed him by. Even on Christmas day Harry hadn't managed to cheer up very much.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Ron confronted him about it in the dormitory, a week before the term began again. It shouldn't have been, but Harry hadn't been paying attention to what was around him, and he hadn't realised Ron knew something was up with him.

Of course, Ron was not the best at subtlety, either.

"Tell me what's up with you," Ron demanded.

Harry paused in the middle of buttoning up his pyjamas. "What?"

"Tell me what's up with you," Ron repeated. "And you heard me the first time."

Harry did up the last button and sat down on his bed, slightly surprised Ron had noticed his brooding. Was he that obvious? It was a good thing almost everyone was still away - apart from the Weasley twins, who seemed to have started warming up to him after the Marauder's Map debacle, and Percy, who seemed to think he was their official supervisor, Gryffindor Tower was practically empty. It wouldn't do to have rumours about his change in behaviour flying about.

He couldn't help his thoughts straying back to the mirror, though. As hard as he tried to forget it, what he'd seen kept coming back to him, as did the feelings of shame and disappointment that he hadn't broken away from the enchantment sooner. But he'd been utterly enthralled, unable to look away. It had captivated him.

"Nothing's up with me, Ron," said Harry, swinging his legs and staring at the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," replied Ron. "I have absolutely no idea what's up with you, but I do know that _something_ is."

"You're wrong," Harry told him. He wasn't ready to tell Ron. His friend would want to know why Harry hadn't woken him, and why he wanted to go exploring at night in the first place. And if he told him he'd been investigating, Ron would _still_ want to know why Harry hadn't wanted him to come. And if he had come, he'd had wondered why Harry was so good at sneaking around, at hiding, and at avoiding the professors, elves, and ghosts that were wandering about the hallways. Harry wouldn't have been able to explain it without revealing who he was. For obvious reasons, he couldn't do _that._

"I'm not wrong, Danny. Stop lying to me, I can tell when you do that," said Ron.

_No, you can't,_ thought Harry, thinking of how often he'd lied to Ron just this past term. The thought made him feel slightly guilty, but he was able to brush it off. He didn't have a choice. It seemed, though, that with his recent brooding his facade had somewhat slipped. That wasn't good.

"Just drop it, Ron," he said tiredly. He swung his legs up onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself, but he knew Ron wouldn't let it go. Getting Ron to drop something was as difficult as getting Snape to give points to Gryffindor - in other words, impossible.

Ron gave him an incredulous look, got up, and sat down on Harry's bed. "You can't just brush me off like that. If you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll go for McGonagall."

Harry raised himself up on his elbows and scowled at Ron. "You do that and I'll -"

"You'll what?" asked Ron, one eyebrow raised. He took a deep breath. "Listen. I'm not as good at the whole 'understanding how other people are feeling' thing as Hermione is - which is saying something, since she's not very good either - but I know when there's something wrong with my best mate, Danny. I know you're always withdrawn and quiet and stuff, but sometimes you have to open up. Just tell me. What's up with you? Why are you even more closed off than normal?"

Harry hesitated. How suspicious was his supposed shyness? His reserved behaviour, his tendency to curl in on himself rather than admit there was something wrong? Perhaps Ron was right. Ron might be mad when he found out Harry had been sneaking around without him, but Harry could just pretend it had been a spontaneous decision, and that he hadn't wanted to wake him.

"All right," he murmured quietly, and he began to tell Ron about the mirror. He left out the part about the three-headed dog, and he was deliberately vague about what exactly he'd seen in the mirror. But he told his friend about being up after curfew, and how the mirror showed him what he wanted most of all, but couldn't have.

Showing a degree of tact Harry wouldn't have thought possible, Ron didn't interrupt until Harry had finished talking, and didn't even ask what Harry had seen. He placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "See? You shouldn't keep everything bottled up, Danny, you'll overflow. You have to let it out sometimes."

"Yeah," said Harry, not too convinced. But at least Ron seemed happy, because his friend broke into a broad grin. "What is it?"

"I got you to open up," Ron said. "I don't think anyone's managed that since the year started."

Harry smiled slightly. "I don't like talking about that kind of thing."

"Don't like showing emotion, more like," said Ron. "You've got this creepy blank mask you do. It's _weird._ No one can read your expression at all when you do that. I don't know anyone else like that."

More ways in which he was standing out without realising it. It seemed in keeping to the shadows he'd still, somehow, drawn attention to himself. Not much, and nothing to really get the rumour mill going, but certainly enough to give him some sort of a reputation. The troll probably hadn't helped.

He shrugged. "Just something I've always been able to do," he lied. "I guess I'm just good at hiding what I'm feeling."

Ron nodded, seeming to accept this. "You don't always have to hide, though, Danny. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

_But I do, Ron_, he thought. _And I can't tell you or anyone why._

* * *

A week later, classes had begun again, and Harry was sitting in DADA with his teeth clenched, forcing himself not to cry out or reach up to rub his scar. For most of the lesson, Quirrell had been watching him, and Harry kept getting shooting pains in his scar.

He'd convinced himself that he'd imagined it at the welcoming feast. But this time, he couldn't. Quirrell was a Death Eater, or at least involved with Voldemort somehow. Harry and Sirius' earlier suspicions were confirmed: Quirrell had tried to murder him during the Quidditch game. And now he was sitting in a classroom with the man, copying down the weaknesses of vampires.

He wasn't safe. He probably hadn't been for a long time, but it was confirmed now. Unable to concentrate, Harry abandoned copying down the notes, got a fresh piece of parchment, and began to compose a letter to Sirius.

_Dear Simon,_ he began, and then paused, his quill hovering above the parchment. How exactly could he put this so that if it was intercepted, no one would be able to figure out anything from it?

_I think I have confirmed what we've been thinking for a while, but never actually proven. I had a headache today during DADA, and you know what that means. I don't think Hogwarts is safe, but neither is anywhere else, and taking me out now would just attract unwanted attention. I will be careful, uncle, don't worry._

_Danny_

There. That would let Sirius know what was going on, but no one else who read it would get much out of it. He folded up the letter and placed it in his bag, just as the bell rang for the end of class. The usual chaos ensued, as every quickly packed up and headed for the door.

"Danny, are you okay?" asked Hermione, while they were leaving the classroom. "You look a little tense."

"Fine," Harry replied, shouldering his bag. "Let's go to lunch, I'm starving."

He started towards the Great Hall, and Hermione and Ron followed, talking with each other in low voices so that he couldn't hear. Harry had no doubt they were talking about him. They were probably concerned for him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, but it didn't work. _Quirrell hasn't tried anything since November. He probably won't try again at all._

He knew it was wishful thinking, but if he kept constantly glancing over his shoulder and jumping slightly whenever someone put their hand on his shoulder, someone was going to notice. Ron and Hermione already had, and soon, they wouldn't be satisfied with the limited information he was giving them.

Lunch was usually an enjoyable meal, with everyone discussing the lessons they'd had so far for maybe a minute or so before moving on to some other topic (normally Quidditch, or some article in the _Daily Prophet_). Harry couldn't enjoy it, though. To him, the food tasted like cardboard, and all the asinine chatter was starting to give him a headache. Since he was trying to straighten out his thoughts, it was twice as frustrating.

Quirrell had to be more than a normal Death Eater to be making Harry's scar hurt. He'd met Voldemort's followers before, and nothing like that had ever happened. Snape had been mere cauldrons away every Potions lesson, and Harry's scar had not so much as twinged. That said, that didn't mean Snape didn't want to hurt him, or that the Potions Master was not involved. Sirius was fairly sure Snape was on Dumbledore's side, though that was hardly any better.

But what it did mean was that there was something... _else_ about the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Something that made him more dangerous than any of the others Harry had encountered, more _connected_ to Voldemort. But he couldn't think what.

Suppressing a growl of frustration - _head down_, he reminded himself - Harry put his head in his hands and tried to think. He felt like he was dancing around the answer, coming close but never quite getting there. Snippets of conversation from the other students were slipping in, interrupting his thoughts.

"- don't know, but Snape took thirty points -"

"- practice was a disaster, we need a new Seeker -"

"- up to my ears in homework, I suppose it is OWL year, but if McGonagall sets one more essay -"

Harry clenched his fists and fought the urge to cover his ears, or scream at them to just _shut up_. Perhaps knowing he was being targeted by a murderous professor who also happened to be a Death Eater of some sort was affecting him more than he thought. Perhaps being a little tense was justifiable.

Still, screaming at people would not help him very much, as satisfying as it might be.

Instead, he got up from the bench and picked up his bag. "I'll see you in Charms," he told Ron and Hermione, turning to leave. Hermione caught his wrist, and Harry clamped down on the urge to yank it away.

"Wait - Danny - you haven't eaten much -" she began, but he interrupted her.

"I'm not hungry. Let me go."

"Mate, you told us you were starving just before," said Ron, looking at him suspiciously.

Harry winced, suddenly remembering how he'd got them to leave him alone just before they came to lunch. He needed to focus. He'd let his concentration slip and he'd made a mistake. Contradicted himself. Maybe this was innocuous, but what if the next thing he let slip wasn't?

"Yes, well, I'm full now," he told him. Unable to bear it any longer, he tore his wrist out of Hermione's grip and walked briskly out of the Great Hall, with only one glance over his shoulder. Hermione looked concerned, and Ron was frowning, as though trying to figure his friend out. He leant over and whispered something to Hermione.

Harry didn't know what Ron had said and found he didn't particularly care. He left the Great Hall and headed for the second floor, where Charms was held. The silence was comforting. Everyone else was in the Great Hall finishing lunch, though in a few minutes, they would leave.

Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Harry leant against the stone wall of the corridor and let out a long breath. He'd been at Hogwarts for about five months, now, and though he loved the school, there were aspects of it that still made him grit his teeth.

The noise. He should be used to it by now. Before coming to Hogwarts the noisiest places he had been were crowded streets. But even there, the sound drifted off into the sky, instead of bouncing off the walls. He had become used to it. But over the Christmas break, things had been quiet again, and he must have slipped back into his old habits of avoiding anything terribly loud.

The people. He never could seem to get away from them. Even the brief reprieve he had now wouldn't be long. Harry had always been small and skinny, and when walking through the corridors, he tended to get jostled around. The same happened to the other first years, but none of them seemed bothered by it. And then there were so many people who _knew _him. They all knew him by face, at least, thanks to the troll three months ago. A far cry from growing up, when the only person who knew him was Sirius.

Normally Harry would be fine. He would adapt to the noise and the people, learn to take it in his stride. But between his scar hurting and the knowledge that one of his professors was trying to kill him, he'd been a little shaken up.

"Danny!"

Harry winced as Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts. She and Ron must have come after him. "What is it?" he asked tiredly, running his fingers through his hair.

Hermione and Ron joined him up against the wall, worry etched onto both of their faces. "Nothing," Ron told him. "Just thought we'd wait with you, that's all."

With difficulty, Harry resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow or snap some sarcastic comment at them. But wait with him was all they did. They didn't say anything, or even exchange concerned or meaningful glances with each other. Somehow, they knew exactly what he needed.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a small smile, but it wasn't enough to ease the knot of tension in his stomach. When the rest of the class came and they were let into the Charms classroom, he made sure to choose a seat in the back corner, and he kept a careful eye on everyone near him.

_Paranoid_, he chided himself, unable to keep from pressing his back against the wall when Professor Flitwick came past and asked them to demonstrate the colour-changing charm. He was too tense to get it right, and the piece of red material in front of him flickered to blue feebly before changing back to red. The professor assured him he'd get it eventually and moved on, and Harry managed to relax enough to try the charm again.

"It's more of a swish, Danny," Hermione told him. "Not a wave - look, Ron's doing it right, copy his wand movement."

"I'm doing it right?" repeated Ron, sounding confused. He glanced down at his piece of cloth and blinked in surprise. "I did it?"

"Yes, Ronald," said Hermione exasperatedly. "You're quite good at Charms. You just need to focus more, and believe in yourself."

Ron still looked bewildered when the bell rang, but Harry couldn't laugh at his expression like he normally would. He couldn't quietly tell Ron he thought Hermione was right, and he couldn't join in with the rest of the Gryffindors as they discussed their results excitedly on the way to Herbology.

* * *

"Why are you feeling so paranoid?" asked Susan quietly, packing fertiliser around one of their plants and then looking up at him expectantly.

Hannah and Neville hadn't heard: they were too busy arguing over the magical properties of rose petals (again) to be paying any attention to what Harry and Susan were doing with the plants - or even what _they_ were supposed to be doing. Hermione was two trays over and Ron was down the other end of the greenhouse, so there was no chance of them hearing, either.

Harry turned his attention to Susan. "I'm not," he said, trying to feign nonchalance. "Why do you think I am?"

"I can see it in your face," she said, after a brief moment of hesitation. "You're on edge, anyone can see that, and you keep glancing over your shoulder, like you're expecting someone to step out of the shadows."

He frowned. _Still too obvious. _But he'd been certain he'd been keeping his expression neutral - Sirius had taught him to control his facial expression and body language when he was five - so how had she seen his tension?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he tried.

"Yes, you do," Susan replied shortly. She reached for the watering can. "You're feeling tense, paranoid, fearful even. Why, Danny?" Susan tilted her head to one side, looking nothing more than curious and, at the same time, sympathetic.

"None of your business," he snapped, with more venom than he intended. He saw hurt flash across her face for a second, but then she schooled her expression back to the curious and sympathetic look he'd been receiving before.

"I was under the impression I was your friend, Danny," she said coolly. "Me, Neville, Hannah, Ron, Hermione... you haven't opened up to anyone, really, about why you're walking around as though you're about to be murdered."

He managed not to flinch at her words. There was more truth in her words than she knew.

"But you're our friend," she continued, "so that _makes_ it our business. I've never seen Ron and Hermione so worried. Even Hannah, clueless as she can be, has noticed something's up."

"So why don't _they_ ask me?" he asked.

"Because Hannah's barely realised something's wrong, Ron and Hermione seem to think they know the cause, but they don't, and Neville's far too shy to bring it up with you," Susan told him bluntly.

"Okay," murmured Harry, digesting the information. "But why do you..."

"Why do we what?" asked Susan.

Harry hesitated. "...care. Why do you care? I'm just a little tense, that's all. It's nothing to get worked up over. I'm fine, really."

Susan gave him a disbelieving look. "Like I just said - we're your _friends_, Danny. Why wouldn't we care? We'd be pretty awful friends not to. And you're not just a _little_ tense, and you're _not _fine, so don't give me that. I'm not stupid, Danny."

"I know you're not," he replied.

"Look," said Susan, sighing. "I don't know what it is that's making you like this and I doubt you're going to tell me. But you need to relax, Danny. You can't go around like this."

She was right, of course. Someone was bound to notice, and that would be attracting attention. _Again_. He wasn't doing a very good job of lying low right now. But relaxing was easier said than done. With the threat of Quirrell looming over him, letting his guard down seemed a poor idea. Was the attention worth it, if Quirrell did try to attack him again?

"I can't," he murmured. "It's too hard. I can't."

"You can," replied Susan. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he tried not to flinch away. "Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Hold it, then slowly let it out."

"What will that do?" he asked shakily, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "How will that help?"

"Just try it," Susan told him. "Please. It'll help."

Harry hesitated again, then tried, taking a deep breath and letting it out. To his utter surprise, it seemed to work - he could feel the tension leaving his muscles as they began to unknot, and the creases between his brows started disappearing.

"Try again," said Susan. He did, and relaxed even more.

"Wow," he whispered. Harry shook his arms and rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension there. "It worked. How did it work?"

"You're focussing too hard on everything. But you can tune things out, Danny. It's normal. It's _healthy,_ even," Susan told him. "You still haven't told me why you were like that."

"I'm not going to," he said, and returned to their work. "It doesn't matter."

"You're impossible," she muttered. "Really. You are."

"I know," he replied quietly, lowering his head to their work as Professor Sprout's gaze swept over them. "Just how I am."

* * *

_Dear Danny, _

_That's worrying news - but please, __do not investigate further__. I know how curious you are, and I know how important this is. But trying to find out why all this is happening isn't a good idea. You could get hurt, Danny, or caught up in something you don't need to._

_I know you realise the implications of your headache - so I must ask you to stay on your guard. If possible, try not to go anywhere alone (though the Quidditch match showed us that won't help very much) and avoid running into him as much as possible. (You know the person I mean)._

_We're obviously still missing part of the puzzle, but I don't want you to try and find out anymore. It's dangerous. I made sure you understood 'dangerous' when you were a kid, Danny, so please remember._

_Love you, and I'll see you over the Easter holidays, or summer if you want to stay at Hogwarts._

_Your uncle,_

_ Simon_


	16. No Rest for the Weary

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates, and happy holidays if you don't!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and thank you anyone who's reading this one. Honestly. I'm surprised that anyone still is, what with my incredibly messed-up (read - non-existent) updating schedule. I can't promise updates will stop being sporadic - sometimes you'll get several within days of each other and other times I won't update for weeks. Sorry, everyone! I'm doing my best.

The title of this chapter is a fairly well-known proverb. An alternate version is _No rest for the wicked._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: No Rest for the Weary**

The walk across the grounds was Hermione's idea, of course, and though Harry had protested at first, both Hermione and Ron nagged him for nearly an hour (Hermione even abandoned her homework, claiming she could finish it the next day), and he finally relented.

Hermione had become extremely worried about him - in fact, so had pretty much everyone he was close to. Harry had even spotted Professor McGonagall watching him sorrowfully one Transfiguration class, and that was when he knew he was seriously worked up. He'd tried Susan's relaxing technique for a few weeks after the incident in Herbology, but it never worked quite so well, and he kept forgetting anyway.

Snape and Malfoy hadn't helped. Potions was a nightmare with Snape breathing down his neck and making snide remarks to put him off. Most of them were aimed at Ron, Snape's victim of choice, but since Harry was partnering Ron most of the time, Snape's jibes usually included him, too.

Malfoy, on the other hand, had also noticed Harry's tension, and seemed to be doing the best he could to make it worse. He made Crabbe and Goyle jump out at Harry from behind pillars, tripped him, Ron and Hermione in the corridors, dropped things into his cauldron during Potions, and _smirked_ at him so often it was all Harry could do not to kick him.

He restrained himself, but he couldn't stop his hand coiling into fists or his teeth grinding together with the effort of not saying something in retaliation that would make everything worse. Sirius had warned him not to try a battle of wits with a Slytherin, because they had more practice. Sirius had also told him just to prank them, but right now, that wasn't a particularly good idea.

So Monday afternoon, after a tedious period of History of Magic, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went outside for a walk across the grounds. They weren't the only ones, either: while normally most people went back to their common rooms, it was only a week before the Easter holidays and the spring weather seemed to get better by the day. People clustered outside in small groups, enjoying the sunshine.

"How is it so hot?" asked Ron, loosening his tie and wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's only April!"

"Apparently the weather doesn't think so," Harry replied, his mouth quirking up slightly in a smile despite himself.

Hermione smiled, taking in a deep breath. "Don't you just love spring? All the birds, and the leaves growing back, and the flowers?" She gestured emphatically as she spoke.

"I suppose," muttered Ron, but he glanced up at the cloudless sky and grinned, too. "Race you to the lake!" he shouted, taking off. The lake was a deep blue and compared to its normal iron gray or black colour it looked beautiful.

Harry chased after Ron, some of the tension in his limbs unknotting, while Hermione rolled her eyes and kept walking, never one to indulge in 'childish behaviour' as she put it. Ron got to the lake first and tried to stop, but momentum kept him going forward and he splashed into the frigid water, gasping.

"At least I win - shut up, Danny!" Ron said, as he spotted Harry chucking. Ron floundered back to the shore of the lake as Hermione caught up with them, looking disapproving.

"Ron! You've gotten your robes all wet! And you'll catch your death of cold! Why would you do something so stupid?" she demanded, hands on her hips and behaving in a way reminiscent of how she had been before the troll incident on Hallowe'en.

Ron looked incredulous. "It wasn't on purpose!" he protested, then realised Hermione didn't mean it and had started laughing. "You two," he grumbled, grabbing the bottom of his cloak and wringing it out. "It's not funny."

"Oh, I don't know, Weasley. Anything that makes you look stupid _is_ pretty funny. Which, I suppose, is almost everything."

They spun around to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle walking towards them - Malfoy in the lead, as usual, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind like wannabe bodyguards, not quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. They laughed stupidly while Malfoy sneered at Ron.

Harry suppressed a groan. Just when he'd started to unwind. He'd known a walk wasn't as good an idea as it sounded. Hermione seemed to be thinking along similar lines, because she grimaced and exchanged a worried glance with Harry.

Ron's ears went red, always a bad sign. "Shut up, Malfoy," he snapped, with a glare as equally vicious as Malfoy's smirk.

"Why should I?" asked Malfoy. "Even the rest of your animal crew seem to agree with me. They were laughing at you."

"Animal crew?" asked Hermione cagily, sounding as though she was not certain she wanted to know the answer.

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "Well, you've got the Weasel here," he said, "and then there's you - the bucktoothed beaver -" Hermione gasped, and Ron and Harry clenched their fists in outrage "- and there's your friend over here, the jumpy rabbit." He gestured to Harry. "Scared of his own shadow, hiding in the corners, more paranoid than that ex-Auror - what's his name? Mad-Eye? Anyway, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Guess not."

"I said shut up, Malfoy!" Ron snarled angrily. Harry wasn't any calmer. He was seeing red and his fists were clenched so hard his nails were digging into his palms. His teeth were grinding together.

"And I asked you why I should. All I'm saying is the truth, Weasel. You should choose better friends than a know-it-all beaver and someone who's even less of a Gryffindor than Longbottom - and that's saying something," Malfoy replied.

Harry snapped. All the tension that had been building up for weeks burst forth and he lashed out instinctively, punching Malfoy square on the eye and knocking him down. Vaguely in the background, he heard Hermione cry out and Ron shout something at him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles and came forward, a mean look in their piggy little eyes.

Before they could do anything, however, a drawling voice drifted over to them. "Now, what's going on here?" It was Professor Snape, striding towards them with his black cloak billowing out behind him and an unpleasant look on his face. Harry groaned.

Malfoy got to his feet. "It was Lewis, professor - we were just minding our own business and he came over and punched me in the eye! We didn't do anything, I swear!"

Harry almost hit him again. _That's the biggest lie I've ever heard - and Snape knows it, but he won't punish Malfoy because Malfoy's a Slytherin. Why couldn't Professor McGonagall have been the one to see? At least she's fair._

"He's lying, professor," began Hermione. "What happened was -"

"Hold your tongue, Granger," snapped Professor Snape, scowling. "Do not lie to me to get your friend out of trouble. Mr Malfoy, is that _all_ that happened?"

"Yes, sir. That's everything. Well, Weasley ran into the lake, but that was just Gryffindor stupidity," Malfoy said with a smirk.

Ron lunged at Malfoy, but Hermione managed to catch the back of his robes and pull him back. "No, Ron! You'll just make it worse!"

"Control yourself, Weasley, or you'll find Gryffindor suddenly lacking in points," Snape told him, smirking. "Now, Lewis. I think you had better come with me. The rest of you, go back to your common rooms. _Now._"

_No wonder Sirius hates Snape,_ Harry thought, glaring at the Potions Master. He didn't say anything, though, and followed Snape as he set off for the dungeons with a glance over his shoulder at his friends. Ron and Hermione were watching him forlornly; Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy were smirking. Harry rubbed his knuckles, still a little sore from hitting Malfoy, and ruefully reflected that given the chance he would probably do the same again.

Neither he nor Snape said anything as they made their way up to the castle. Snape seemed to be purposefully lengthening his stride, forcing Harry to walk quickly to keep up with him. A few students gave them curious glances as they passed, and many of them gave Harry sympathetic looks. He was certainly not the first student who had been in trouble with the formidable Head of Slytherin House.

"Sit," Snape instructed curtly, once they arrived in the Potions classroom.

Harry pulled a chair out from a desk and sat down, gingerly looking up at Snape but avoiding meeting his eyes. _He's a legilimens,_ he reminded himself. _Don't make eye contact._

"Mr Malfoy claims you launched an attack on him, causing injury, utterly unprovoked and without reason. Do you deny this, Lewis?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry muttered. "Sir," he added quickly. "It wasn't unprovoked. Malfoy was insulting my friends."

"Do you have any proof?"

He scowled. "Ron and Hermione will tell you the same."

"They will attempt to cover for you, you mean. And even if this attack was provoked, fighting is still against the rules, Lewis," Snape told him, curling his lip.

Harry lowered his head and glared at his hands. Why had he even bothered to try with Snape? "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Snape took a step forward. "So. To start with, twenty points from Gryffindor," he stated. Harry opened his mouth to complain, and then shut it quickly. Sirius had warned him that antagonising Snape was a bad idea. "Also, you shall have detention with me here, every Friday night at seven o'clock until the start of June."

"What!" Harry exclaimed, unable to keep in his indignation. He scolded himself the instant the words left his mouth. _You know better than to let your emotions get the better of you!_

"Starting this week, Lewis," Snape told him. "After all, what would have happened if I had not interrupted you? Would you have continued to attack Mr Malfoy?"

_No, Crabbe and Goyle would have pummelled me into the ground,_ Harry thought, but he kept silent. _And then Ron would have joined in, and there would have been a fight the size of the one that happened on the first Flying lesson._

"I see," said Snape, taking his silence as confirmation. "I would tread carefully in the future, Lewis. You always seem to be at the centre of things, don't you?"

"Sir?" asked Harry, managing to get a questioning expression on his face, but inwardly tensing.

"The troll on Hallowe'en. The collapse of the Quidditch stand during the first match. And you even ended up outside the Mirror of Erised during the Christmas holidays, didn't you? Do you intentionally go looking for trouble, Lewis, or is it all just coincidence?" Snape said.

Harry froze. _How does he know about the mirror?_ He'd been alone, he was certain. He'd checked the room to make sure no one was there. How did Snape know that he had been there?

"I - I don't know what you mean, sir," Harry managed.

"Don't you?" said Snape. "Well, watch yourself, Mr Lewis. I'll certainly be watching you. You may go."

Nodding stiffly, Harry slid out of the chair and left the dungeon, his heart still racing. Snape knew. Snape_ knew._ Presumably that meant Dumbledore also knew. Sirius was right - he shouldn't have investigated the third floor corridor, and he shouldn't do anymore investigating now. It wasn't just that it was dangerous. It also drew attention, and that was the last thing he wanted.

* * *

Severus watched as the boy left the Potions classroom, eyes narrowed. Daniel Lewis was certainly an enigma. It might be a coincidence that trouble seemed to dog his footsteps, but Severus had never believed in coincidences. And just now, another curiosity had been added to the puzzle that was the first-year Gryffindor. He hadn't met Severus' eyes - he _knew_Severus was a legilimens.

Perhaps that, too, was a coincidence. Perhaps he didn't know. But that was unlikely.

When Albus had mentioned to him about the Mirror of Erised, and Lewis' peculiar reaction to it, he had dismissed it as unimportant. But now... now that he thought about it, Lewis was strange for an eleven year old Gryffindor - and the boy had always been that way, too.

During the first term he hadn't paid much attention to him. Lewis was merely one of Weasley's gang, along with Granger and occasionally Longbottom. Severus had spent more time on Weasley, as he was the easiest of the Gryffindors to antagonise, and also because he was the most annoying of the first-years (excluding Longbottom, but one day that boy was going to blow up the classroom with his abysmal abilities, so he was justified in finding _that_ particular first-year frustrating). Even after the troll, Severus had assumed Weasley had pulled Lewis along for the ride. Frankly, the way Lewis trotted around after Weasley was pathetic and all too reminiscent of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. Another reason to pick on Weasley.

But the incident with the mirror proved that there was more to Lewis than he outwardly showed. For the boy to be able to pull himself away from the mirror meant he had a strong mind. Why, though, would a strong minded Gryffindor trail after Weasley as though the boy was some sort of hero?

Then it struck him. Because no one would look twice at a boy who behaved like a faithful puppy.

That was disturbing for two reasons. The first being that Lewis obviously had something to hide, or wanted, for some reason, not to draw attention to himself. The second reason it was disturbing was how _Slytherin_ it was.

_No Gryffindor should be able to blend in that well,_ Severus thought. _He almost had me fooled._

No, the boy _had _had Severus fooled. For a while, at least. But why did Lewis want everyone's attention to be on Weasley? Or Granger, come to think of it. Lewis never really raised his hand in class, and with Granger's memorisation of the text book no teacher would look twice at him while she was waving her hand in the air.

No, it wasn't that Lewis wanted the attention on them. The boy wanted the attention _away from himself._ And it had worked brilliantly - up until now, at least.

Why? What reason did he have for wanting to hide? Was Lewis just shy, or was there another reason? Severus was inclined to think the latter: if the boy was merely shy, he wouldn't have much reason not to look Severus in the eye. No, something else was afoot.

Severus recalled another memory: Poppy, making some offhand remark about paranoid parents and fake protective amulets. She had mentioned it because she believed Lewis had one, and while it obviously didn't protect him very well there was some large spells on it. While her point had been about how useless such measures were and how they made children feel 'invincible', making them more likely to dive into trouble, now it was another piece to the puzzle.

_I need more information, _Severus thought.

* * *

"This was everyone you could get?" Nott said, quietly but with an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice. "Seven months, and you only managed to get four others?"

Yaxley scowled, glancing at the four other former Death Eaters seated around a table, waiting for the 'meeting' to start. "There's no unison among the Death Eaters anymore, Nott," he snapped. "When I proposed working together, most immediately decided I was setting myself up to take our master's place. Besides, half of us are scattered all around the globe looking for the Dark Lord. Any owls I sent them never returned to me."

"I knew you'd have difficulties, Yaxley, but the point remains - _four_? You think our plans will work with only six of us?" Nott replied.

"They'll have to, won't they?" Yaxley snapped, before taking a calming breath. "We should begin."

Nott muttered something in agreement and took his seat, but he glared at Yaxley to show that he was still angry. He took the chance to have a look and see who Yaxley had managed to find. The Carrow siblings, Amycus and Alecto - all brawn and no brain. They'd only be useful in a fight, and nowhere else, because the Carrows were useless at infiltration, information gathering, planning, and anything else that required even a shred of intellect.

Next to Alecto Carrow was Walden Macnair. _At least he's better than the Carrows, _thought Nott grimly, but he knew that Macnair could be just as much of a liability as the Carrows were. Macnair was intelligent, yes, but he didn't like sharing, be it power, glory, or ideas. He was the sort of person who tended to go off and do his own thing. Nott wondered why he was even considering working with them, and made a mental note to figure out if Macnair had ulterior motives.

And then, there was Avery. Though easier to control than Macnair and subtler than the Carrow siblings, Nott wasn't fond of Avery. The man rubbed him the wrong way. Part of it was that Avery was a sycophant, and always seemed to be trying to get close to people in authority. During the war, Avery had claimed to be one of the Dark Lord's most faithful, but the way he threw away any pureblood pride he had to prove himself to their master was sickening. Then there was the fact that Avery had been one of the first to claim that he'd been imperiused once the war was over.

_Most faithful, my wand, _Nott thought.

Yaxley cleared his throat and began. "First of all, I'd like to make it clear that no one is in charge here. No one here is any more important than anyone else is. The Dark Lord is our master, and only he gives us orders."

"Good to hear," said Macnair, swinging his feet up onto the table and reclining in his chair. "The first person to try and give me orders will see exactly why I'm an executioner for the ministry now. I don't imagine Yaxley's family will be pleased about the blood."

Nott winced slightly. Macnair was one of the only Death Eaters proficient in a weapon other than magic. His axe was a weapon as deadly as a wand when he wielded it, and after a battle, it was easy to see if he had fought there or not. If he had, there would be decapitated bodies lying here and there, the heads several feet away.

"Same 'ere," Amycus Carrow grunted. "I got a wand, an' I'll use it, I will. You lot oughta be afraid."

It wasn't quite as threatening as when Macnair said it.

"Yes, well..." Yaxley said. "Yes. Now that's out of the way, we need to talk about -"

"Hang on," Avery interrupted. "First, tell us your plan. Where do we start looking for the Dark Lord?"

Yaxley blinked. "We don't. Because," he continued, ignoring the uproar from Avery and the Carrows, "what makes you think we'll find him?"

"Of course we'll find him!" said Alecto Carrow. "That's the whole point of this, isn't it?"

"Exactly," said Avery, nodding his head enthusiastically. "How can you even think about not looking for him? It's all I've been doing for the past ten years!"

"That is Yaxley's point," Nott broke in. "Ten years of searching and no one has found him. No one knows where to look. Whatever we're doing isn't working. We need a new approach, a more... thought-out approach."

The uproar quietened. "All right," muttered Avery. "So let's think. Where could he be?"

"Right now, just forget about finding him," said Yaxley. "What we're doing is securing a way for him to return once he _is_ found."

"How? What're you talking about?" demanded Amycus. Yaxley shot Nott a pointed look, so he sighed, and explained.

"The Dark Lord is in some sort of incorporeal state," Nott began. He saw the blank looks of confusion on the Carrows' faces and sighed again. Little words. Right. Why hadn't Yaxley found more competent people for them to work with? "Spirit form. He needs a body."

"Oh," said Alecto, her expression one of dawning comprehension.

"So you've thought of a way to get him one, have you?" asked Macnair.

Nott nodded. "Yes. The Philosopher's Stone is being kept at Hogwarts. It's been confirmed by some friends we have inside the castle."

"Your son, you mean," Macnair said. "And the other Slytherins."

"Yes," said Nott irritably. "It's being kept on the third floor corridor, well guarded. Dumbledore warned the students to stay away from it."

"You think the stone could bring back the Dark Lord?" asked Avery, his eyes hungry.

"We are certain," said Yaxley. "The Elixir of Life would give him his body back, and we would be honoured beyond all his other servants. Even beyond those who went to Azkaban rather than deny him."

Hunger was present in all of their eyes now, even Macnair's. Nott could feel a smirk of triumph threatening to come forth, and he suppressed it. They would help him now. But once they had the stone, and the Dark Lord returned, Nott would make sure he knew just whose idea it had been in the first place.

"Of course, once we've got it we still have to find him," Macnair broke in. "Why does no one know where he is?"

"Those closest to him would know," Yaxley mused. "But most of them are in Azkaban."

"Most?" asked Avery. "Who isn't?"

"Malfoy," said Yaxley. "But he won't work with us. Snape, but he's on Dumbledore's side now. And Rosier -"

"But Rosier is dead," Nott finished. "So we don't have any idea where the Dark Lord is or anyone who we can ask."

"Perfect," muttered Macnair. "The one little hole in your plan, Yaxley."

"Look, let's focus on getting the stone first, and then we can start searching," Yaxley said. "It's inside Hogwarts, like Nott said, so we need to find a way of getting in."

"Have you thought through this part at all?" demanded Macnair.

Yaxley bristled. "For your information, yes, we have. Nott and I have thought of a way -"

"And you expect us to just fall in behind you two?" Avery snarled. "What happened to no one being charge?"

"No one is _going_ to be in charge! Nott and I have a plan, that's all! If you would just let me speak, I could have explained it by now!" Yaxley said heatedly.

"Why do we need a plan anyway?" asked Alecto. "Gettin' into Hogwarts is easy enough, right?"

"Not when you're trying not to be noticed," Macnair muttered. "Why do you have to be so dense?"

"Who're you callin' dense?" growled Alecto.

"Got a problem?" asked Macnair. "Seems pretty accurate from where I'm sitting."

Alecto let out a howl of fury and leapt at Macnair, who, to his credit, got to his feet and managed to dodge out of the way. Alecto slammed into the floor and swore loudly. Amycus grabbed her arm and helped her up, and Nott quickly got up and got between her and Macnair.

"Stop it," he said. "We need to work together on this, or we'll never get anything done."

"Nott's right," said Yaxley. "Try and be civil, will you?"

"I've got a blade with her name on it," Macnair muttered, and Alecto glared at him fiercely, but neither of them moved to attack each other.

"Now, _if_ you've settled your differences," said Yaxley exasperatedly. "Do you want to hear this plan or not?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice. Unconsciously, the others imitated him.

Nott knew his eyes were shining with anticipation. The Carrow siblings wore matching grins. Macnair's fingers strayed to his pocket, curling around his wand. Avery was breathing heavily, his eyes alight with keenness.

Yaxley opened his mouth, and told them the plan.


	17. Three Conversations

First of all, I am very, very sorry about how long it has been since I updated. Various personal reasons left me very uninspired for quite a long time, but things are mostly resolved now. I will never abandon this story, and even if I did I'd tell you first, so don't worry about that. I'm not going to promise the next update will be quicker, because it might not, but I sincerely hope it will be less than a week before it's up.

Secondly, a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed, subscribed, favourited etc. You guys give me more motivation to write, and I'm immensely grateful to you all.

Lastly, this is about the story itself. We're actually fairly close to the end of this particular story now. I estimate maybe a chapter or two until the climax, a couple about that, and then one or two to rap it up. The planning for second year is already underway, so once this story is done, hopefully you won't have long to wait until the next one.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Three Conversations**

The Easter holidays had been a pleasant reprieve from the paranoia Harry had been wound up with for weeks. He supposed he should have confided more to Sirius about what he'd discovered, but he didn't want Sirius to pull him out of Hogwarts and draw attention to him - or work himself up over something he couldn't help Harry with. Sirius had still told him not to investigate further. In fact, he had outright forbidden Harry from trying to figure it out and poking around.

"It's far too dangerous," he'd said. "Stay with your friends, stay inside the castle, and stay in sight of a teacher if possible. Don't delve into this any further, it's not safe."

This sort of instruction was rather typical of Sirius. He was, if possible, even more careful about keeping Harry safe than Harry was. Harry supposed this was because Sirius knew exactly what Dumbledore's allies were capable of, since he had worked alongside them until the schism. Or perhaps it was because he couldn't bear to lose him - a feeling that Harry reciprocated, but with a lesser degree of fear. Sirius wouldn't be killed if they were caught. He might go to Azkaban, but he'd find a way out. Harry was very confident in his godfather.

But despite Sirius' instructions, Harry wasn't able to let it go. He was far too curious and far too worried to just pretend nothing was happening. And that was the reason that Harry was now seated opposite Hagrid in his hut, without Ron and Hermione, directly defying all four of Sirius' instructions. Well, technically Hagrid wasn't a teacher, but he was a member of the staff. Sirius would probably say that was near enough to the same thing.

"The three-headed dog in the third floor corridor," Harry said bluntly, "is yours. Isn't it?"

Hagrid's eyes blew wide with shock, and surprise was evident in every aspect of his expression. "How do yeh know abou' Fluffy?", somehow managing to sound as both flustered and as though calling a brutish three-headed _Fluffy_ was perfectly normal.

Harry felt his mouth drop open and hastily closed it. At least Hagrid had confirmed his suspicions. "You called it _Fluffy_?" he had to ask.

Hagrid frowned at him. Harry got the impression he wasn't entirely sure what he found questionable about the name. "Yeah. Bought 'im off a Greek chap. Dumbledore asked if I could use him t guard the -" he stopped.

"Yes?" asked Harry, whose mind was already whirring. _Guard? Asked by Dumbledore?_ "Guard what?"

"Can't tell yeh that. Secret. Sorry, Danny, Dumbledore's orders," Hagrid told him, drawing himself up importantly and looking for all the world as though being given orders by Dumbledore's was the highest seal of approval a man could receive.

Harry mentally noted down that Hagrid was on Dumbledore's side of the schism. He and Sirius had suspected, but never managed to find out for certain. At the same time, he resisted scowling at Hagrid's obviously extreme loyalty to Dumbledore. Sure, Dumbledore was only doing what he thought was right, but Harry tended not to like people who were trying to kill him. It was a pet hate of his.

"I found him by accident," Harry said honestly. It _had_ been an accident, after all, though he wasn't going to mention that he had been out of bed at night. "I didn't mean to. I just found him fascinating, that's all. He's pretty amazing." Maybe Hagrid would open up a bit if he pretended to show interest in Fluffy, he thought, wishing he didn't feel he was grasping at straws. Harry _knew _how to talk to people and get information out of them; it was one of many useful things he had been taught by Sirius.

Hagrid nodded in understanding. "He's really somthin', isn't he? He's a Cerberus, yeh know," he told Harry proudly. "They're rare, they are."

"Aren't they supposed to be extinct?" asked Harry, widening his eyes as though he was fascinated.

It seemed to be working. "Well," said Hagrid. "They were. See, this Greek chap wanted to bring 'em back, an' he did a little - er -"

"Experimenting?" finished Harry. "It's all right, Hagrid, I won't say anything. I'm not supposed to know about Fluffy, am I?" he assured him quickly.

Hagrid beamed. "Thank yeh, Danny," he said. "That's mighty good of yeh."

"But I'm curious about something, Hagrid," Harry said, placing his words with care. "There was a trapdoor in the corridor, and you mentioned Fluffy was guarding something. And then there is that Gringotts break in before school started, and... well, Hogwarts is the only place safer than Gringotts to keep anything, right?"

It had worked; Hagrid looked thunderstruck, and when he spoke, he sounded flustered. "Well - see here, Danny - yer meddlin' in somethin' you shouldn't be. What Fluffy's guardin' is between Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel, so yeh should leave well enough alone, an' not go any further."

That was rather similar to what Sirius had told him, but Hagrid had given Harry new information. _Nicholas Flamel..._ The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Were the Flamels a famous pureblood family? It was possible, but unlikely: Sirius had taught him the basics in pureblood politics in case he needed them, and Harry was fairly certain the name 'Flamel' had not come up. Perhaps the Flamels had died out, like many other pureblood families were doing. But then why would he a Nicholas Flamel be involved in something _now_?

Then again, where else could he know the name 'Flamel' from? Was Nicholas Flamel a famous wizard? What would he have that needed guarding, and was almost stolen? At least Hagrid had confirmed the two events were linked, but he had left him with so many questions it was turning his head.

Out loud, Harry simply said, "Sorry. You're right. I'll leave it alone."

Hagrid's expression broke into a smile. "Yer a good lad, Danny," he said.

As always, Harry shoved away the slight sting of guilt at blatantly lying to someone. He was becoming quite good at it now.

* * *

Hermione and Ron looked up as he walked over to them in the library. They were studying for the exams - or rather, Hermione was studying and forcing Ron to do the same, which was probably a good thing this side of the Easter holidays. Something about his earnest expression must have caught their eyes, because Ron's face instantly became concerned and Hermione closed her book, fixing her full attention on him.

"Danny? Something up?" asked Ron.

Harry scratched his head. "Yeah - I guess, yeah. Hermione, you don't happen to know who Nicholas Flamel is, do you?" he asked hopefully. If Hermione knew, it would save a great deal of time for him, and he was sure he was running out.

She bit her lip, frowning. "Flamel... _Flamel_... It sounds familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"It's probably to do with some sort of precious object," Harry told her. "_Really _precious. And..." he frowned, trying to piece together other clues to help jog Hermione's memory. The Death Eaters had been after it, probably. "Something to do with life?" he suggested, shrugging - the Death Eaters were mostly searching for ways to bring Voldemort back, after all.

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth turned into an 'O' of realisation. "Stay here! I'll be back in a minute!" she told them, standing up quickly and hurrying off to another part of the library as quickly as she could without being swooped down on by Madam Pince.

Ron shook his head. "How does she do that? Where would she have heard the name Flamel, anyway? She's been in the wizarding world less than a year. Has she read half the library already?"

Harry smiled, slipping into a seat at their table. "What're you two studying, anyway?"

"Transfiguration," Ron said, pulling a face. "I can't do any of this. I'm going to fail, I know it."

"You won't," Harry reassured him, as Hermione rushed back with a large and rather musty-smelling book and dropped it onto the table with a _thump_.

"You find what you were after, then?" asked Ron, eying the old tome with great trepidation.

Hermione shushed him, flicking through the fragile book with far less care than Harry would have thought, with her respect for books. Her eyes skimmed the pages briefly before she moved on, evidently looking for something she didn't quite know the location of.

After a minute or so, she muttered "A-ha!" and leaned further in, scanning the tiny print. Ron and Harry moved closer, trying to see, but only ended up banging heads.

"Listen to this," she said, as Harry rubbed his skull where it had knocked into Ron's. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Harry nudged him with his elbow and he closed it again. Hermione started reading aloud. "_Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone_!"

"Can I talk now?" Ron wanted to know.

"Oh, come on, Ron," said Hermione, and she went ahead to explain how the stone made the user immortal, and how it could turn any metal into gold. "Don't you see? It's the embodiment of our most primal wants - wealth and immortality! It's the most precious object in the world."

"And it's being guarded on the third floor corridor," Harry told them. It was almost comical how wide their eyes became.

"_Here_?" spluttered Ron. "They're keeping something like that at Hogwarts?"

"Of course!" Hermione said, with an expression of sudden understanding. "It was almost stolen from Gringotts, wasn't it? Apart from Hogwarts, Gringotts is the safest place for anything! Professor McGonagall told me so when she escorted us to Diagon Alley and my dad asked her about bank security -"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, cutting Hermione off. He shifted slightly, unsure of how much to tell them. But they _were_ his friends, and he did owe them at least something. "And I think that someone is trying to steal it to bring back You-Know-Who." Harry bit down on his tongue to keep himself from saying 'Quirrell' - they wouldn't believe that right away. He had also almost said 'Voldemort', but he knew that would draw more attention to himself, which was the last thing he wanted.

Ron went pale and his eyes grew round with fear. "To - to bring back You-Know-Who?" he whispered.

"But it'll be guarded, won't it?" said Hermione shakily. "I mean, if _Dumbledore_ is keeping it safe -"

"He's not infallible, nor is he perfect," Harry told her, doing what he knew was a terrible job of keeping bitterness out of his voice.

"But it might not be someone trying to bring back You-Know-Who, mightn't it?" asked Hermione, though she didn't sound like she thought that was very likely.

"I bet it's Snape!" said Ron suddenly. "Think about it! He seems the type, doesn't he? I bet he'd do anything for a bit of money, and who wouldn't want to be immortal? Besides, he's a right old git."

It sounded as though Ron was trying to find some other explanation for someone wanting to steal the stone, other than to bring back Voldemort. Harry couldn't blame him for that. Ron might not remember the war, but his family did. Harry knew he had lost his uncles in it, though he couldn't quite recall their names.

"Death isn't something you should be afraid of, Ron. Everyone dies," said Hermione - rather tactlessly, Harry thought. But a lack of tact was both Hermione and Ron's biggest flaw, although Ron seemed to do it obliviously, whereas Hermione only really forgot to be tactful when she was making a point.

"I don't think it's Snape," Harry told them. "Snape used to be a Death Eater, but he changed sides in the war. He's on Dumbledore's side now." Sirius had warned him about Snape more often than he had warned him about anyone else, because no one was entirely sure which side Snape was on - he _could_ still be a Death Eater. But whichever side it was, it wasn't _Harry's_ side: if he found out who Harry was, it would not be good.

"So he's one of the good guys, then?" asked Hermione. "Death Eaters were You-Know-Who's followers, right? So if he's not one of them anymore..."

Ron eyed her oddly. "Hermione, how much do you know about the Great Schism?"

She frowned. "Not much. I read about the war, but most books didn't have anything on the schism. It was referenced in a few, but I couldn't get any real facts out of it."

That wasn't very surprising. The schism was by far the biggest topic of controversy, and the ministry was very careful about what they allowed to be printed about it - they didn't want anything that went against their view, of course, but neither did they want a backlash if the only books published were about the official view. The end result was that any book that went into anything beyond cold hard fact about the schism was not allowed to be published, and so most authors tried to speak of it as little as possible.

"Well... do you know about the horcruxes?" asked Ron.

"I heard Lavender and Parvati mention them a couple of times," said Hermione. "What are they?"

Harry turned away from them as Ron explained, as briefly as he could, about the horcruxes and Bellatrix Lestrange and the schism. He didn't trust his expression not to give anything away. From the sound of it, Ron had been raised in a family that was not on Dumbledore's side. That was some comfort, but the topic still made him fidget anxiously. They couldn't know. Even if they were on his side, there was no guarantee they wouldn't let something slip accidentally.

_Trust no one_. That wasn't one of Sirius' rules. Sirius had told him to be careful who he trusted. Growing up the way he had, though, had taught him that it was better safe than sorry. Being careful meant not trusting two twelve-year-olds. In fact, it generally meant not trusting anyone.

_And even that's not always enough,_ he thought grimly.

There was a lull in Ron and Hermione's conversation so he turned back towards them. Hermione was biting her lip, her eyes troubled, and Ron had slumped back into his seat.

"So you're saying Dumbledore was a good wizard once -" she began hesitantly.

"But he made a lot of bad decisions and now not nearly so many people respect him," Harry cut in. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Okay," said Hermione. "I understand. So which teachers would Dumbledore trust to help him protect the stone? It'll have lots of protections, I'd imagine, something that precious. I mean, imagine what would happen if You-Know-Who's followers got hold of it."

There was a collective shudder.

"Well, you said Snape," said Ron, thinking. "And Hagrid, definitely. Hagrid's always supported Dumbledore."

"Anyone else?" asked Harry.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Flitwick and Sprout? Not McGonagall, though, she's always been very open about not taking Dumbledore's side. But since we're not going to be trying to get past the protections, shouldn't we be more focused on who's trying to steal it?"

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, and of course, Hermione had to spot it.

"Danny? Do you know who's trying to steal it?" she asked.

Harry bit his lip, hesitating. He knew he shouldn't trust Ron and Hermione - they were _first-years_, for Merlin's sake - but, at the same time, he couldn't help it. They were both so earnest, and they seemed to really care about him, too, in a way no one except Sirius ever had. Maybe they were too young and not yet trustworthy enough to know who he really was, but he could at least trust them with this, couldn't he? He owed them at least that much, and probably a great deal more he'd have to one day repay.

"I..." he began. "Yeah. Yeah, I know who it is."

"Who?" asked Ron, his eyes round. "Who do you think it is?"

"Quirrell," he said quietly.

Both Hermione and Ron were silent for a moment. Then Hermione said, cautiously, "But Danny, how can it be Quirrell? He's scared of everything. He's scared of his own subject! I don't know... he just really doesn't seem the type."

"Yeah," said Ron. "He has a stutter, for Merlin's sake."

"I think his stutter is faked," Harry said. "It's the perfect cover, don't you see? No one would suspect _Quirrell_; no one even gives him a second thought because he acts so pathetic. He makes himself appear useless so that you wouldn't _ever_ suspect him."

"He's faking that stutter!?" Ron exploded. "But it's so annoying! I swear if it turns out it _is_ faked I'm going to -"

"_Ron_!" Hermione whispered furiously. "We are in a _library_. Keep your voice _down_, or Madam Pince will toss us out!"

"Sorry," Ron said, not sounding sorry at all, but calming himself slightly.

"Why do you think it's Quirrell, Danny?" asked Hermione, ever the rational one. "You might be right about the stutter, it does sound rather put on, but what makes you suspect him of wanting to steal the stone? You must have some reason - like you said, no one would ever think twice about it being him."

Harry couldn't very well tell them about his scar hurting, but he could tell them about everything else. "I know someone who has a map of Hogwarts. It shows where everyone is on it too. I looked at it once, and I saw Quirrell walking around with someone called Tom Riddle."

"Someone has a map of Hogwarts?" Hermione interrupted. "Why don't they make copies for first years to use? We got lost so many times in our first week."

"It shows everyone?" Ron put in. "That's just creepy. Can they see us all the time, like when we're sleeping and washing and everything?"

"Can I keep going?" Harry asked irritably.

"Sorry," said Ron and Hermione quickly.

"Anyway, I thought Tom Riddle might be a pet, like Mrs Norris. So I asked Quirrell about it. That was the day the Quidditch stand collapsed - the one we were in," said Harry. _The one _I_ was in,_ he thought, and he knew Hermione at least had probably picked up on what he'd left unsaid.

"What - _Quirrell_ collapsed the Quidditch stand?" asked Ron, sounding completely flabbergasted. "Merlin's beard."

"That's not all," said Harry grimly. "I asked Nearly Headless Nick who Tom Riddle is. He said Tom Riddle was a student at Hogwarts. _Fifty years ago_."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Fifty years ago?" she asked. "But then how is he in the castle now? _Why_ is he in the castle now - he's older than most of the teachers!"

"I don't know," said Harry truthfully.

"But whoever Tom Riddle is, he's important enough to this whole thing that Quirrell would try to kill you for knowing about him," Ron realised. "Danny - is _that_ why you've been so paranoid lately?"

Harry looked away. "Yeah," he admitted. He was caught by surprise when Hermione swept her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"You stupid idiot," she said. "Why didn't you just tell us that?"

"I just -" Harry began, then stopped. He didn't want to hurt his friends by telling them he didn't trust them. "I don't know," he said instead, trying to pull out of Hermione's arms. She wouldn't let him go.

"Blimey, mate," said Ron. "I thought I'd gotten through to you after the whole mirror thing. How much do you keep to yourself?"

Harry didn't answer him. Ron let out an exasperated sigh but he seemed to have dropped it for the time being. Harry knew Ron would bring it up again later, though, not that it would do any good. There were some things he had no choice but to keep to himself, and some things he kept to himself so as not to burden anyone else. He shifted uncomfortably in Hermione's grip.

"Do you think he let the troll in on Hallowe'en, too?" asked Hermione, letting Harry go at last. "He was the one who came racing in to tell everyone." Harry wasn't sure if she'd changed the subject on purpose or not.

"But why would he do that?" asked Ron.

"To have a look at the protections guarding the stone while everyone's distracted," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"He probably did, then," said Ron. "I wouldn't put anything past him now. Bloody _hell_, though," he whistled. "This is - this is pretty serious. Shouldn't we - I dunno - tell a teacher or something? Not Dumbledore," he added quickly, perhaps catching sight of Harry's expression, "but McGonagall, maybe? Couldn't she do something?"

"What can she do?" asked Hermione. "If a handful of first-years have figured out that it's Quirrell, the teachers must have too. They must be doing all they can already."

"They don't know it's Quirrell," Ron argued. "The only reason _we _know is because Danny put it together, and he figured it out from that map and asking Quirrell about Riddle and the Quidditch stand. The teachers don't have half of that to go on, so they don't know it's him. They won't be doing anything to stop him."

"They wouldn't believe us if we told them, either," Harry said quietly. "The map isn't mine. I don't have it. And without that, we don't have any proof that there is a Tom Riddle in the castle. It'll be Quirrell's word against ours, and like we've said, there's no reason for anyone to suspect him."

Hermione bit her lip. "But there must be _something_ we can do," she said in frustration, and Harry understood. Hermione didn't like to be idle. She was always doing something - learning something new, working something out, listening to a teacher - anything other than sitting on her hands doing nothing. Hermione couldn't bear feeling like there was something she should be doing but wasn't, and when it concerned someone she considered a friend, Harry knew she hated it especially.

Unfortunately, there _wasn't _anything to be done, not that Harry could see, other than to continue being careful.

"I could write to my parents," Ron ventured. "They might be able to think of something."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

Ron shrugged. "It's better that nothing. Besides, they know heaps more about the schism and stuff than I do. They'd at least know if Quirrell is likely to be on You-Know-Who's side or if he just wants the stone for himself."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, exactly. Shall we go back to the common room? I don't think I could get anymore studying done, and your parchment to write the letter's still under your bed, Ron."

"No it isn't," said Ron, frowning. "I've been writing stuff down while we're studying - see, here!" He brandished a page of notes.

"That's _my_ parchment, Ronald," said Hermione exasperatedly. "I saw you didn't have any so I leant you some, but I'm all out on this roll."

"All right, whatever," said Ron, packing up his things. "Let's head back."

"Give me a minute," said Hermione, picking up the musty book that had given them such precious information about the Philosopher's Stone. "I need to put this back, I'm already over the limit for the amount of books you're allowed to borrow - Madam Pince won't let me get anymore out except for schoolwork."

She tucked it under her arm and set off in the direction of the section that, so far as Harry could tell, was for books that were all at least three inches thick and with at least one cobweb on the cover. Ron nudged Harry suddenly and jerked his head towards a group of fifth and sixth year Slytherins that had just entered the library.

Harry was about to ask Ron why he'd bothered pointing them out until he caught a part of their conversation. "... Forbidden Forest nest Thursday night. Nott's father wants him, too, though I can't imagine why. He's that weedy little first year - one with the pointy nose?" one of them was saying.

Ron pulled him back against the shelf so they would be less noticeable. The Slytherins were talking in fairly low voices, but it echoed in carried in the empty library. Most people were outside enjoying the sunshine, or else up in their common rooms studying with their friends. Apart from them, the Slytherins, and a group of third-year Ravenclaws near the back who were thoroughly engrossed in books that looked thicker than Harry's head, there wasn't anyone else in the library at all.

"Yeah, I know him," said another one. "Why do they want you to sneak out at night? I thought you were supposed to lay low, Yaxley - wouldn't want anyone suspecting your father of Death Eater activity, now would we?"

"Keep your voice down," the one called Yaxley snapped, as Harry elbowed Ron sharply when he gasped. "And yeah, that was the plan, but maybe now they're going to make their move..." his voice drifted off as the Slytherins walked further away from them. Harry strained his ears, but couldn't catch any more of their conversation, and he knew that it would look very suspicious if he was to go after them and they noticed him.

He glanced over at Ron, whose faced had returned to the pasty-white colour it had been when Harry had first broached the idea that Death Eaters were involved in this mess. His eyes were wide.

Hermione came over to them, slinging having just returned the book to its place on the shelf. She stopped when she noticed Ron's expression.

"Ron? Danny?" she asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"More trouble," Ron managed, massaging his forehead. "I think this is about to get a lot worse."


	18. Break: Concerning Quirrell

It's not a proper chapter - that will be up in a few more days - but there some important stuff in here. And mysterious new characters, because everyone loves them. (Not an OC, by the way. This is another of JKR's characters I'm playing with. See if you can guess who!).

It isn't terribly long, but then, this is a break. They're not supposed to be.

* * *

**Break: Concerning Quirrell**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_This is going to sound really crazy, but there's a teacher at school who might be a Death Eater - Professor Quirrell. At any rate, he's trying to kill my best friend Danny. Did you hear about the Quidditch stand that collapsed? I reckon Percy must have told you. Quirrell did that._

_I guess I should probably tell you why we think he's trying to kill my friend. See, Danny knows about this guy called Tom Riddle. He was apparently a student about 50 years ago (that's what Nick says, anyway), but we know he's in the school now. There's a map someone showed Danny which shows all of Hogwarts and everyone in it. Danny saw the name Tom Riddle with Quirrell and asked him about it._

_Danny says he thought Riddle was a pet or something, like Mrs Norris - ugh, image having another Mrs Norris in the castle! - but then that's the day the stand collapsed. There wasn't any reason why the stand should have done so because the teachers always check the supports and stuff, there's no way they missed one. Someone did it deliberately._

_Anyway, we also know that Quirrell's trying to steal something from the school. I don't think I should say any more in this letter (Hermione's lecturing me about how easily it can get intercepted and I think she's being paranoid, but she does have a point). But Danny's really tense about this. I suppose that's normal for anyone who has someone attempting to murder them in the school. Not that it's a situation that comes up often._

_We'd go to a teacher but they wouldn't believe us without the map, and it's not Danny's. He doesn't seem to trust Dumbledore either, too. I hope you can do something because we're just drawing a blank for what to do right now._

_We don't know if he's working for You-Know-Who or not_

_Oh, and we overheard some Slytherins talking in the library. It sounds like one of them has to meet his dad in the Forbidden Forest for something, and they pretty much confirmed he was a Death Eater. We don't know if it's connected with Quirrell or not, but there's __something__ big about to happen. Let me know if you think of anything._

_Ron_

_._

_Dear Ron,_

_Hermione's right about letters being intercepted. It has happened before, so be careful. Also, watch out for Danny. He's going to need you._

_We'll see what we can do, but that isn't an awful lot because we're nowhere near Hogwarts and we don't know Professor Quirrell. If you can, stay away from him, and keep Danny away from him. In fact, if you can persuade Danny to stay in the common room as much as possible, do so. None of you should go out of the grounds, and __stay inside at night__. Make sure Fred and George do so too. We don't want any of you hurt._

_We're going to find a way to deal with Quirrell and the Death Eaters, Ron, but we can't say any more here in this letter. You're going to have to trust us. In the meantime, we want you to stay out of this. You're already far too involved in this and it's not safe. This is serious, Ron. __Don't look any further.__ Don't try to investigate and don't try to be a hero. If Quirrell really is working for You-Know-Who, this is much bigger than anything a first-year is capable of. For your own safety, please, stay as far away from this business as you can._

_If you have any more problems and need someone at the school to talk to, try Professor McGonagall. _

_With love,_

_Mum and Dad  
_

* * *

_Thestral,_

_There is a problem up at the school. Possible Death Eater involvement. Professor Quirrell is suspect, or at the very least, he is up to something unscrupulous. There are children caught up in this; one in particular is being targeted._

_If there is anything you can do, it would be appreciated._


	19. The World Will End In Fire

And from here the climax begins (as you'll probably be able to tell). Some parts may seem a little disjointed - don't worry, they're supposed to be that way. If you need anything clarified, feel free to ask.

There are two incantations used here that aren't used in canon:

_Iaculetur_:To hurl, or to throw

_Dissimulo_: To mask, cloak, or disguise

The title of this chapter is taken from Robert Frost's poem, 'Fire and Ice'.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: The World Will End in Fire**

Ron's parents reacted much the same way Sirius had, and Harry was sceptical about their promise to 'see what they could do'. Still, it was better than nothing, although it did little to alleviate the tension.

Instead, they threw themselves into studying. The exams were less than a month away and it provided a good distraction for them. A group of Hufflepuffs - Hannah, Susan, Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley - had taken to joining them at their table in the library, as had Neville, and they quickly formed a regular study group meeting most afternoons once classes had finished.

The library was a good place to study, and not just because any book they needed was readily at their disposal. It was quiet enough to concentrate, unlike the rest of the castle, though that was mostly because Madam Pince insisted on it and no one was fool enough to cross her. It was warm, well-lit, and the contradictory smells of musty books and fresh parchment hung in the air. Harry could tell why Hermione loved the place.

There was also the _feeling _that rolled off the books in waves, especially from the restricted section (not that they ever went near there; Hermione looked scandalised when Ron suggested it). It teemed of ancient magic and forgotten secrets, and it seemed to _hum_ with power. It was almost intoxicating. Harry knew why the restricted section was off limits.

Power wasn't essentially evil, but there was no one in power who he could describe as _good_.

"You look preoccupied," Susan commented one Friday afternoon, pulling her books out of her bag. Harry looked up from his Potions notes, which admittedly, he hadn't really been reading.

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"What's up?" asked Ernie, who had arrived at the same time as Susan. "You _do_ look kind of worried."

Ernie Macmillan was a decent sort of person, like most Hufflepuffs (Harry wasn't going to generalise, though; Zacharias Smith had been far from decent). He was bit pompous and overbearing, yes, but he was a difficult person to get angry, and he wasn't afraid to speak his mind even if his opinion was controversial. Harry wouldn't call them friends, but he liked Ernie well enough, and it seemed Ernie felt the same about him.

"It's nothing, it's just -" began Harry, casting desperately around for an excuse. "I've got detention with Snape tonight," he landed on, wincing. He had almost forgotten about that.

Neville grimaced, and Ernie nodded in understanding. "Ah. What did you do to get detention? Nothing too terrible, I hope?"

"He punched Malfoy in the face," Ron spoke up, his smile wide. "It was bloody brilliant."

"Ron!" said Hermione sharply. "Language!" Ron pulled a face at her.

The others were grinning appreciatively. "Nice one," commented Ernie.

"He had it coming," added Neville.

"Wish I could have seen it," Susan said.

"Malfoy's a git," put in Hannah. "And it's really not fair the way Professor Snape lets him get away with everything." There were nods and sounds of agreement.

"Still, a shame about getting detention for it," said Justin. "Wouldn't like to be in your shoes, mate. I don't imagine Snape is too pleased with you right about now."

"When is he ever?" muttered Harry, and the others laughed.

Justin, unlike Ernie, was the exact opposite of pompous. He was genuinely friendly to everyone, and he tended to put others before himself. He had the bad habit of talking everytime things went quiet to fill the silence, and he was careful with his words so as not to ruffle any feathers. Still, he was a fairly open book and very easy to trust. Justin was a dependable sort of person, and responsible, so he had earned Hermione's respect, at least.

"Right," said Hermione. "What are we studying today?"

"I want to look at Charms," said Susan. "If that's alright with everyone. I'm having some trouble with the theory behind the flame-freezing charm -"

"I can help with that," said Justin, shifting his chair closer to Susan's. "Which bit exactly don't you understand?"

"I still don't see why Zacharias can't be part of this group," lamented Hannah, as the others pulled their books out. "He keeps asking."

"Because he's a git, Hannah, that's why," said Susan, not looking up from her notes. Beside her, Justin nodded. Harry found himself agreeing with them. He'd known Smith for one train journey but that had been enough to convince him that Smith was a complete prat.

"Maybe at times," said Ernie pompously, frowning. "But he is a member of our house, Susan. Shouldn't we offer him the benefit of the doubt?"

"No, I already did," said Susan in reply. "And then when we were eight he pushed me into the garden pond because I told him his new haircut looked stupid. Trust me, we're better off without him."

"You were both kids, Susan," said Hannah uncertainly. Susan pretended not to hear her.

Several days had passed since they overheard the Slytherins talking in the library. They kept a particular eye on Nott, the weedy-looking first year the Slytherins had mentioned, but other than that, there wasn't a lot to be done. Neither Quirrell nor any Death Eaters had made a move yet, which was both reassuring and worrying. In some ways, Harry just wanted the waiting to be over.

He hated waiting.

"They're not so bad, are they?" Ron remarked to Harry in a low voice, gesturing to the Hufflepuffs. "I think they've grown on me."

Harry managed to let out a laugh, and somehow, in was genuine.

* * *

At quarter to seven, Harry reluctantly packed up his books - it had been Hermione's idea to study after the evening meal - and began the long trek from Gryffindor Tower down to the dungeons. He didn't think it was coincidence that the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons and the Gryffindor one in the tower on the opposite side of the castle. It seemed far too convenient to keep the two rival houses as far apart as possible. Unfortunately, though that probably meant fewer students in the hospital wing, it meant it would take him fifteen minutes to get to his detention and he had no desire to be late.

_Snape would skin me alive_, thought Harry, shivering as the Fat Friar's foot accidentally passed through his head. The ghost murmured a brief apology before continuing in the direction of the kitchen.

Most of the students were back in their common rooms now, although some were still out in the corridors, and a few were probably still in the Great Hall, finishing their dinner. He paused as he passed the enormous double doors and resisted the urge to join them. _I deserve this_, he reminded himself. _I lost my temper and there are always consequences._

He had almost reached the staircase again when Zacharias Smith came out of the Great Hall, and Harry ducked around the corner to avoid meeting him. He didn't trust himself not to punch _him_, too, and another detention would be all he needed.

Ignoring the stares from various Slytherins, he made his way down towards the dungeons. He caught a few whispers, but he wasn't trying to overhear anything, so mostly, he pretended not to notice them.

"...probably got detention..."

"...little lion in the snake's pit..."

"...stay out our way if he knows what's good for him..."

"...going tonight, Nott, and I don't care if you're scared..."

Harry jerked to a stop and then, realising how suspicious that looked, forced himself to keep going. He craned his head around to see if he could find whoever it was that had been speaking to Nott, but he couldn't see anyone other than a gaggle of second-years who gave him an ugly look as they passed. _Going tonight, Nott _rang in his ears. _Going tonight going tonight going tonight..._

_Snap out of it_, he told himself, striding purposefully towards the Potions classroom. He could feel his pulse quickening and throbbing behind his head, though. _They're going tonight it's happening tonight have to warn Ron and Hermione can't be late they're going into the forest tonight_. Desperately, he wished he knew what 'it' was. _Ron's parents better have done something_, he thought grimly.

He hesitated before the door, then gathered his courage and knocked, sharply, three times.

The door creaked open after a couple of seconds pause. "Enter," Snape drawled, from somewhere inside the class room.

Nervously, Harry did. The Potions classroom was as morbid as always - terribly lit, freezing cold, an awful smell Harry didn't want to try to identify. It was Sirius' opinion Snape set up most of it to frighten new students. Whatever the reason for the atmosphere in the classroom, it wasn't the most appealing place.

Along one of the desks was a line of dingy cauldrons. Harry had the feeling he knew what his detention was going to entail.

Snape strode silently towards him as he came in. "Lewis," he said, lip curling into a smirk. "Your grades would suggest you do at least have a small amount of brain in you, so I imagine you know what you're going to be doing."

Harry scuffed his shoe on the ground. "Yes," he said to the floor, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"Look at me when you're talking to me, boy," snapped Snape.

Harry adjusted his gaze to staring at Snape's forehead. "Yes, sir," he murmured.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'll find what you need -" he gestured to the table with the cauldrons "- inside that first cauldron. Get to work. You won't be leaving until they're scrubbed so clean you can see yourself reflected in the metal. If you don't want to be here after midnight, I suggest you put your back into it. _No_ magic."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again. He walked to the table and reached inside the cauldron. Snape swept into his office, somehow managing to make the ripple of his cloak seem like it was smirking at him.

With a weary sigh, Harry picked up the cloth and set to work. It was dull, mindless labour, and it made him arm hurt, but it wasn't too bad. It was bearable. At least Snape wasn't in the room criticising his every move. He found it somewhat rewarding, in a strange way, getting the cauldrons to gleam (though there were some stains he just couldn't get out, and he wasn't sure _what_ he was supposed to do with the cauldron that had a hole in its side. He was fairly certain that wasn't very safe for potion-making.)

After an hour or so, when Harry estimated he'd scrubbed about a third of the cauldrons clean, Snape came back into the classroom and sat at his desk, pulling out a pile of what looked like essays to mark. Harry lowered his eyes and kept working, even as he felt the muscles along his spine tense. It was going to be a long night.

The Potions classroom was eerily silent except for the scratching of Snape's quill and the sound of Harry's cloth scrubbing against the metal of the cauldron. His free hand clenched tight around the rim of the cauldron, determined not to let the silence unnerve him.

And from somewhere, there came a scream.

Snape stood up at his desk and Harry jerked his head towards the window. The scream had come from outside, and was joined by more screams and shouts of terror. Footsteps pounded outside and the door slammed open as someone came barrelling in.

"Professor! Professor!" It was Draco Malfoy, his face chalky white and eyes wide.

"What is it?" asked Snape swiftly, striding towards him.

Draco panted for breath. "Dragon! There's a dragon loose on the grounds!" he gasped out.

"What?" snarled Snape.

"It's true, sir - no one knows where it came from, but they need your help, sir -"

"Enough. Go back to your common room. Tell anyone you see to go to theirs. Lewis," Snape snarled. "You as well. We're done for tonight. Both of you are to _stay inside_. Make sure _everyone_ knows that."

Malfoy's eyes swivelled to meet Harry's. At any other time, the blond boy probably would have smirked, but for now he merely paused for a moment and turned back to Snape. "Yes, sir," he said.

Snape swept from the room, pulling out his wand as he did so, and Malfoy followed. Harry stood up and set the cloth back on the desk, turning over the events in his mind.

Was this part of the Death Eater's plan? It was too much of a coincidence not to be, but how had they got hold of a _dragon_? How had no one noticed them bringing it onto the grounds? Had they trained it, so they didn't have to? Would the teachers be able to subdue it?

Was it a distraction?

Harry paused at the door when this thought came to mind, then shook his head. So what if it was - it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. There was no way he'd be able to face down a Death Eater and he wasn't stupid enough to go looking for trouble. No, what he had to do now was find Hermione and Ron, and see if they were all right.

With that thought in mind, he set off determinedly for Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Yaxley listened to the sounds of chaos with a smirk on his face - hidden, of course, behind his silver mask. It seemed Nott Junior and his own son had done their job well. It was a stroke of luck that Nott Junior had found out about the dragon the oaf, Hagrid, had been keeping as a pet. It was careful planning that put that knowledge to use.

Using the Forbidden Forest as a meeting place to tell Yaxley and Nott Juniors about the plan had been Macnair's idea. It was a good one, too, not that Yaxley would ever admit it.

"You three," said Yaxley, gesturing to Avery and the Carrow siblings. "Go. You know the plan. And for your own sakes, try not to get caught."

"Was that an insult?" demanded Amycus Carrow. "I think that was an insult."

"No, it wasn't," Macnair snapped, "but it should have been. It's a wonder you managed to escape Azkaban. Hurry up and do your bit; you're going to jeopardise everything."

"Oi!" said Avery, but he didn't say anything else. The three set off towards the castle.

"Right," said Nott, sounding relieved. "Let's get this started."

"You two do know the way, don't you?" asked Macnair sarcastically.

Yaxley scowled. "Yes, of course. We need to loop around to the other side of the castle and come up through the viaduct. There won't be anyone there, since the teachers are fighting the dragon -"

"And the others," Nott put in.

"- and the students will have been told to go to their common rooms," continued Yaxley as though Nott had not interrupted him. "We'll need to disillusion ourselves in case there are students watching through the windows, however."

"I'd imagine most of them will be watching the dragon, actually," said Nott irritably. Yaxley scowled at him, too, not that he could see it. One disadvantage of wearing masks was that it was a lot harder to read the expressions of the others.

They set off without saying anymore, and apart from colourful swearing from Macnair when he was almost impaled by a tree branch there was silence. In the distance, the Death Eaters could hear the sounds of spells being fired and the dragon roaring.

They were twenty feet from the edge of the forest and the viaduct entrance when a man stepped out from behind a tree to meet them.

He was dressed in simple hooded robes that cast shadows over his face, so they could not make it out. On the sleeve was a strange insignia they had never seen before, but from what Yaxley could make out, it looked somewhat like a dragon. No... not, a dragon, something else...

His wand was raised, pointing at Macnair's chest. From behind him, several others dressed the same way slid out of the trees.

The Death Eaters drew their own wands. Yaxley gripped his tightly, muscles tense. They must have cast the _homenum revelio_, or they wouldn't have known the Death Eaters were there. They had been disillusioned, after all. Yaxley shed his charm, seeing little point in it now they were discovered, and beside him, he saw Nott and Macnair do the same.

Who _were_ these people, and how did they know they would find them here? More importantly - would the three Death Eaters be able to take them out?

"Good evening, gentlemen," the robed man said.

* * *

Harry dashed through the corridors towards Gryffindor Tower, desperate to find out if Ron and Hermione were safe. He said sorry more times than he could count as he bumped into people fleeing in the opposite direction towards the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms, and crashed into three separate suits of armour. Each time he passed a window, he couldn't resist taking a look outside.

It was pandemonium. A vicious red dragon, larger than Hagrid's hut, was swooping overhead and torching everything in sight. The teachers were shouting incantations in an attempt to stop it. Harry spotted Dumbledore, obvious with his large silver beard, send a net of ice to wrap around the dragon, and Snape, identifiable by his billowing cloak, conjure an iron cage around it. Neither worked; the dragon was too quick and evaded them.

Then there was the added problem of the Death Eaters.

They had shown up when Harry was halfway to Gryffindor Tower and it was then that the scene descended into utter chaos. The few students remaining outside screamed and ran in, and the teachers suddenly had another enemy. He saw Professor Vector blasted backwards into the lake with a particularly nasty-looking curse, Professor Burbage narrowly avoid a jet of green light, and Professor Sprout hurl venomous tentacula at one of the Death Eaters. The dragon, meanwhile, had decided to start on the greenhouses.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene, Harry raced up the last few steps, gabbled the password to the Fat Lady, and clambered through the portrait hole into the common room. He spotted Ron and Hermione instantly in a far corner of the room and hurried over to them.

"Are you alright?" he gasped out.

"Fine," said Ron shakily. "Have you seen outside?"

"Yeah. Death Eaters. Where the hell did they get a dragon from?" he asked.

"Hagrid," whispered Hermione. "I bet it was his. You know how he's always wanted a dragon?"

"How did the Death Eaters find out?" asked Ron, then slapped his forehead. "Nott. Of course."

"Could have been Yaxley," said Harry. "Not that it matters either way."

"Where has he been keeping it?" asked Ron. "It's too big to fit into his hut."

"Probably in the forest," said Hermione. "That's not what's worrying me, though. The teachers will deal with the dragon. But what if that's the point?"

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

Hermione clasped her hands to her lap. "This of it this way. The Death Eaters want to get into Hogwarts and take the Philosopher's Stone. So they do, what? Get a dragon and try to fight their way in? They must have spent months planning this. There's no way it's that simple."

"A diversion," breathed Ron. He scowled when Harry and Hermione shot him surprised looks. "Hey, I might not be as smart as Hermione, but I know strategy. A dragon's flashy. It'll keep the teachers' attention for a while. So that means there must be others, trying to get in another way. The Death Eaters out there now? They're there to make us think that there aren't any others."

"So there are a group of Death Eaters trying to get into the castle?" checked Hermione. "Where does Quirrell come into that?"

Harry froze. He'd forgotten about Quirrell. _Stupid, stupid,_ he scolded himself. _He tried to kill me. Why in Merlin's name did I let myself forget about him?_

Ron frowned. "Hey, come to think of it, I didn't see him out there on the way up."

"Neither did I," Harry whispered.

Hermione's eyes went wide. "He's taking advantage of the distraction. He'll be in the third floor corridor."

"We've got to stop him!" said Ron, eyes alight. He leapt to his feet. "Come on!"

Hermione frowned. "We should tell a..." she trailed off, glancing at the window. "Teacher," she finished lamely.

"There aren't any teachers to tell," snapped Ron. He offered his hand to Hermione and she took it. He pulled her to her feet. "Come on, Danny. There's no time to lose."

"No," said Harry, almost whispering.

Ron blinked. "What?"

"I said no. We're not going anywhere."

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" said Macnair roughly.

"It is of little consequence," the man replied. His voice was gravelly and grating, as though each word took more effort than it should.

Yaxley raised his wand to point between the man's eyes. "Tell us your identity or we will kill you."

"Do you honestly believe yourselves capable of that?" The man gestured to the people assembled behind him. There were at least nine others, outnumbering them more than three to one.

"If you will not tell us," said Yaxley, "then answer me this. Why are you here?"

"To stop you," said the man. "I was informed of the Death Eater activity around Hogwarts and took adequate precautions. I did think you might have been more subtle than this, but -" he shrugged "- as I said, it is of little consequence."

"Who informed you?"

"You continued to ask questions as though you expect to receive an answer."

"How do you propose to stop us?"

"I'd give you the chance to leave," the man grated out, "but I never give chances. _Iaculetur!_"

* * *

"What the hell do you mean? Of course we've got to stop him," said Ron.

"And what good will that do? We'll just get ourselves killed," Harry retorted. "We can't tell a teacher, but there's still the prefects - head boy and girl -"

"_Danny_," said Ron. "We _can't._ They're not going to believe us. And we can't let Quirrell get the stone. That would mean that - well, you know what that would mean! We have to do something!"

"The protections on the stone will keep it safe," Harry replied. "We don't need to do anything. In case you've forgotten, Ron - we're _first years_. I don't particularly want to get myself killed in a misguided attempt to stop a wizard twenty times more powerful than we are when he's not going to be able to get the stone anyway!"

Ron's ears went red. "Are you a Gryffindor or not? That's Slytherin talk, Danny! You don't know the protections will hold. We don't even know what they are! Quirrell might have found a way around all of them! And then if he brings You-Know-Who back it'll be our fault, because we didn't do anything!"

Harry was vaguely aware that Hermione was trying to say something, but he ignored her. "How can you be so bloody dense? If he gets past all the protections and we try to stop all that's going to happen is we'll end up dead. Dead, Ron. Do you want that to happen? Because if you go through with this _stupid_ idea, that's what is going to happen!"

They were lucky no one in the common room could hear their argument over the noise outside. The red tinge Ron's ears had acquired spread to the rest of his face. "Be like that, then! But I'm going, Danny, and if you're to cowardly to do anything, then you can stay here!"

He turned and stormed away. Hermione hesitated, then muttered quickly, "Sorry - I know you're not a coward, Danny - but I have to make sure he doesn't get himself killed -" and she hurried after Ron, leaving Harry sitting on his own.

* * *

Yaxley, Nott, and Macnair were flung through the air, crashing into the stone wall of the viaduct behind them. Yaxley and Macnair managed to scramble to their feet, but Nott had cracked his head on the wall and wasn't moving. He must have been knocked unconscious.

Macnair raised his wand, snarling, but Yaxley grabbed his arm. "Stop," he whispered fiercely. "_We can't fight them, Macnair_. We have to find some other way!"

The burlier Death Eater glared, then glanced at the robed man and his followers, who were advancing on them with wands raised. "_Fine_," he snarled. "But you and Nott are on your own."

And then Macnair wasn't beside him anymore, and a vicious-looking bat was flying away from the scene. Yaxley cursed inwardly. Macnair worked so closely with beasts, _of course_ he was an animagus. Yaxley, however, wasn't, and neither was Nott, who was still unconscious anyway.

He backed up against the wall and slowly began to raise his hands, looking for some way to escape. His eyes flicked to Nott, lying seven feet away, and then to the stairs from the viaduct to the castle. He gripped his wand tightly, then spun around, raising it to the stairs.

"_Confrigo_!" he shouted.

The stairs exploded in a shower of rock. It was sufficient distraction for Yaxley to get to Nott, whisper "_Dissimulo_!" to disillusion them, and then cast a feather-light charm so he could carry his friend.

_Protego_! he incanted non-verbally, halting the red stunners before they could hit him. He pulled Nott over his shoulder and ran into the forest, ducking behind each new tree as best he could. Flashes of red light lit up the forest, but none were aimed specifically at him; after the explosion he doubted anyone could concentrate enough to cast such a complex spell as the _homenum revelio_.

_Or not,_ he thought, when he heard the man with the grating voice incant the spell. He ran faster, desperate to get out of the forest and the school grounds as soon as he could so he could get away. His feather-light charm on Nott was slipping, as was the disillusionment charm - he, too, had found it hard to cast after the explosion and the panic.

He couldn't really care less if Avery and the Carrows made it out, or Macnair, but Nott had been his friend since they were at school and had given their loyalty to the Dark Lord. If the robed men and women caught up with them, then he would leave him to save his own skin, but until then...

He felt a ripple as he passed through the edge of the anti-apparition wards. Letting out a deep breath, he pulled out his wand, gripped Nott firmly by the arm, and apparated away.

They had failed. But then again, the Death Eaters hadn't been doing much else for the past ten years.

* * *

Harry stared at the portrait hole Hermione had disappeared through after Ron. Unwelcome images flashed through his mind - _Hermione and Ron lying dead, skin pale, eyes staring at nothing - Hermione and Ron being hit with a jet of green light - Hermione and Ron being torn to pieces by a mysterious monster protecting the stone _- and he forced them away with great effort.

"No," he murmured to himself. "No getting involved. No drawing attention to myself. _No_."

He glanced at the portrait hole again. _Quirrell laughing with glee as he sent Hermione and Ron flying back into the wall - Hermione and Ron lying dead - lying dead - dead - dead - dead - _

"Dammit!" Harry growled. He got up and hurried to the portrait hole after his friends. "How the hell do Gryffindors always make things so bloody _complicated_?"


End file.
